


and he holds me so tight

by lasciel



Series: Rabbit Heart [3]
Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Altered Mental States, Attempted Murder, Canon Disabled Character, Cock Warming, Dubious Morality, Explicit Sexual Content, Knotting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-08-19 03:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8187532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasciel/pseuds/lasciel
Summary: Rhys needs new friends. First thing tomorrow morning, he'll go out there and scout for possible candidates.Or as soon as his now-officially ex-best-friends let him out of his bathroom.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RealityPhobia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealityPhobia/gifts).



> this is set right after [midas is king](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4728509).
> 
> edit: [further proof](http://realityphobia.tumblr.com/post/156025067361/so-busy-trying-to-disentangle-himself-from-the-red) (nsfw Rhack fanart) that [realityphobia](http://realityphobia.tumblr.com/) is The Best and too good to me ;~;

Rhys needs new friends. First thing tomorrow morning, he'll go out there and scout for possible candidates.

Or as soon as his now-officially ex-best friends let him out of his bathroom.

“Come on, guys,” he says plaintively, tugging on the doorknob again, “you've had your fun, you can let me out now.”

“No chance, bro, not before you've brushed your teeth!” Vaughn responds immediately, and Rhys licks his lips absently, frowning. 

Sure, he was mostly only joking about never washing his mouth again, but he's pretty sure they're overreacting. Even if the taste on his tongue has already morphed from a heady reminder of Handsome Jack's cock in his mouth to an uncomfortable fur. “Fine!” He mulishly kicks the door with his bare foot, tries to stifle the small pained noise when that ends up much more painful than he bargained for.

He hears two loud cheers from the other side, and something that sound suspiciously like a high five.

“Note to self,” Rhys grumbles under his breath, “absolutely, positively go looking for new friends ASAP.” 

Looking into the mirror is a startling experience, because he doesn't look any different than usual. But even while he's sullenly brushing his teeth, he can still feel Handsome Jack's rough fingertips on his face, the alpha's weight on his tongue, recall his scent.

He feels like a changed man, and more than a little betrayed by his appearance because it doesn't reflect any of that. Rhys washes his mouth, wondering when the low-burning arousal in the pit of his stomach will finally decrease. Jack told him not to touch himself, and Rhys isn't even tempted to try to find out if he really is all-knowing, all-seeing, like the heroic documentary ECHOs make him out to be.

Rhys gets rid of his soiled shorts and shirt, leaving them in a corner to be dealt with tomorrow before he slips into a pair of relatively clean boxers. He knocks on the door, interrupting the low chatter on the other side. “I've brushed my teeth. Can I come out now?” So what if it sounds a bit like he's whining — Rhys feels ridiculous asking to be let out of his own bathroom.

“I don't know,” Yvette says lazily when she opens the door, “can you?”

Next to her, Vaughn does a very poor job of hiding his amused snort.

Rhys crosses his arms in front of his chest, pointedly taking a step out of the bathroom and right into Yvette's personal space.

She smiles indulgently, lays her fingers on his bare shoulders, and slowly trails them up to cup his cheeks. “Let's see,” Yvette says quietly, and Rhys tilts his head for her, hums when their lips meet. 

Opening his mouth to her tongue is second nature to him by now, and then a warm body presses itself against his left side, strong arms coming around his middle. His eyelids lower on their own devices, and he stares at Yvette's intent eyes, enjoying the attention and contact.

Vaughn huffs against Rhys' naked shoulder. “I thought you were above this 'marking your territory thing', 'vette.”

Yvette presses their lips together one last time, hard enough to leave them tingling before leaning away from Rhys. She raises an eyebrow, mouth an amused, dark line. “Look who's talking. Are you just hugging him or are you actually trying to merge with him for tax reasons?”

The arms around Rhys tighten tellingly, and then Vaughn presses a kiss onto his bare shoulder, voice low. “You know, both sounds pretty good.”

It's not like Rhys doesn't enjoy listening to them bicker while they've got their hands all over him, because he really, really does enjoy that. But Rhys' bare feet are getting cold. “If I've passed my inspection, could we take this somewhere else, please? Preferably my bed?” He bats his eyelashes at Yvette imploringly, silently asking her to stay.

Yvette nods, fingers already busy with the buttons of her blouse. “Excellent idea.” She turns around, slowly walking ahead into Rhys' room.

Vaughn pats his hip before disentangling himself from Rhys, grins. “Yeah, but don't you go trying to become the brains of this operation.”

In answer, Rhys sticks his tongue out at Vaughn's back, following his soon-to-be ex-best-friends into his room.

Barely a month passes without them having a cuddling-sleepover like this. _It probably comes with the territory_ , Rhys muses to himself while he manoeuvres between his undressing friends and various pieces of clothing already littering the floor. Working for Hyperion takes a lot out of you, and finding affection that comes without any strings attached is an occurrence only slightly less rare than a Vault discovery.

Rhys really lucked out not only finding one, but two people he can have this with.

As soon as he's taken off his arm and made himself comfortable on the bed, Yvette snuggles up to his right side, fitting her body neatly against him before throwing one of her legs over his.

Vaughn pulls the blanket over them both before slipping underneath it as well, prompting Rhys to stretch his arm out, and Vaughn rests his head on Rhys' shoulder in the next breath, presses himself close until two bodies warm Rhys' sides, almost clinging to him.

The close call must have shaken his friends more than they've let on, and Rhys feels a bit bad about that. Because all _he_ can think about is meeting Handsome Jack again tomorrow, wondering-hoping about what the alpha has planned for them, and giddy anticipation begins to bubble up in his stomach again.

One of them sighs, a low, content sound, and Rhys' eyes fall shut in the next instant. His friends' smell and Jack's, still clinging to his skin, envelop him, dragging him under quickly.

Maybe he won't go looking for new friends just quite yet.

* * *

Rhys sleeps deeply, his dreams a confusing mess that he won't be able to recall in the next morning. Only once does he wake, in the middle of the night, to Vaughn drooling on his upper arm, murmuring something incoherent while Yvette is gently snoring into his ear.

Smiling, Rhys drifts off again, feeling content about where he is right now, and vaguely eager for where he could end up.

* * *

He's going to be sick. Or vibrate right out of his skin with excitement. Even his friends got sick of the nervousness clogging his scent — their very hurtful and just plainly untrue words, not his — and basically kicked him out of _his own apartment_. So he'll probably be more than a little commendably early to his first... date... with Handsome Jack.

A date with Handsome Jack.

Swallowing a sound that would definitely get him a few stares, Rhys instead smooths his hands down his sides. Embarrassing sounds will have to wait until he's at least past this busy area of the _Hub of Heroism_.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he checks his outfit yet again in one of the many reflective surfaces lining the walls, just to be sure that everything is still in order and that he isn't suddenly running around in only his underwear or something. Simple jeans — not too tight, Vaughn insisted — and a white shirt, which Rhys hopes won't be completely drenched with sweat by the time he reaches his destination. He can't stop his fingers from fiddling with the red scarf around his throat, even though Yvette left it hanging loosely, and mainly for decorative purposes. 

Still, Rhys isn't used to having his entire throat pretty much covered up entirely. Most important of all... it's weird and new, having his tattoo hidden, and Rhys doesn't like it. Frowning, he's almost tempted to get rid of the scarf, but then he remembers the way Yvette had smirked when she added it to his outfit, the way Vaughn raised an eyebrow, quietly saying, “really, Yvette? Really?” and decides against it. 

After all, there are only three certainties in this universe that Rhys is aware of: finding a Vault is your ticket to a life without worries, Handsome Jack is a living legend deserving of the title, and Yvette never does anything without a reason.

Familiar scents reach his nose amidst the turbulent sea of smells that make up the _Hub_ , and Rhys waves distractedly at a couple of friendly faces here and there, putting on a smile. He hopes it doesn't twitch and flounder too much, because his nerves can't seem to decide on aroused excitement or complete and utter panic about almost certainly impending disaster. 

So, yeah.

He's calm. He's got everything under control.

There's only one seemingly disinterested guard at the elevator leading up the Handsome Jack's office, who lets Rhys pass without even acknowledging him. Or his extremely suave and not at all clumsy wave.

Rhys sniffs. Asshole.

Once inside, though, his ECHO eye springs to life almost immediately.

Blinking, Rhys tilts his head, glancing over the various info-boxes feeding him data about the truly impressive amount of scanners currently analysing every part of him. Huh. Had these been active yesterday as well?

They couldn't have been, he decides pretty much immediately. Even panic-ridden, Rhys would have noticed. He'd taken great pains in calibrating his ECHO eye so it would pick up on any concealed attempt at surveillance.

In an environment as shiny and treacherous as Helios, it had saved their hides more than once already.

Sighing heavily does nothing to expel the anxiety steadily expanding inside of Rhys' chest. 

The elevator door slides open and Rhys jolts, nervously inspecting the small room in front of him, decorated with pictures of Handsome Jack and a long hallway leading away from it.

He kind of thinks there should be another guard around, but honestly, he doesn't remember passing through here at all. Which is mildly alarming and also a shame, because the paintings are great and some of them are not part of his collection yet. 

That just won't do.

Humming inconspicuously, Rhys strolls through the room, letting his ECHO eye snap pictures of the impressive pieces of art. He recognises most of these as scenes from the heroic documentary ECHOs right away, but there are quite a few he can't place at all. 

Rhys tilts his head, staring at a painting of Handsome Jack standing in some sort of plane, hands resting against his hips, his chin raised triumphantly. In the distance towers a huge rock structure, something white and spherical resting on top of it. If Rhys squints, it looks kind of like a building, maybe or—

A grating sound, and the truly massive door at the end of the hallway suddenly opens.

Rhys almost stumbles over his feet, nearly falling face first into the probably invaluable painting he had been studying. Hastily shutting his ECHO eye off with a distracted thought, he swallows, and takes his first hesitant step into the direction of Handsome Jack's office.

Only to realise that all the helpful pointers from his friends, and the smooth one-liners he had been practising in front of his mirror all day are gone.

There's nothing inside of his head, _absolutely nothing_ , only white noise and something that sounds suspiciously like a wailing siren but might just be Rhys' frazzled nerves given voice.

He's going to mess this up spectacularly, and Handsome Jack will realise that it was a mistake not to kill him right away when Rhys lashed out at him like the dumbass he is, and why are Vaughn and Yvette not here with him right now, why did they sent him to his certain death like this, his only weapon _a flimsy scarf_?

 _Should have looked for new friends and abandoned ship after all_ , Rhys decides morosely, and then he enters Handsome Jack's office and that thought, too, is forgotten.

Handsome Jack is leaning against his desk, arms crossed in front of his chest and while the paintings did a great job of capturing the man's gorgeous appearance, his sheer _presence_ is something that simply has to be experienced in person to believe it.

Rhys is drawn to him like an unpaid intern to even the vaguest hints about future employment, and before he knows it, he's standing at the stairs separating him from the man he's been jerking off to for more than half of his life.

Trying not to fidget while Handsome Jack is staring at him, still silent, is probably the hardest thing Rhys ever had to do. Including the one time he had to eat an entire pomegranate because of a lost bet. 

Somewhere behind him he can hear bubbling water, but who has the time to look at what might be architecturally impressive fountains when they've got Handsome Jack not even three steps away from them, still just looking and _not saying anything_.

Finally, when Rhys is just about to break down and apologise for being here, for breathing the same air as Jack does, for attacking him, for ever being born, Jack huffs. “You're kind of early, kiddo.” He waggles his eyebrows at Rhys. “Still so thirsty for my cock that you just couldn't stand to wait any longer, I take it?” Jack shakes his head, laughing at his own joke. “Though, I've really got to commend you for basically giving half of the money you earn right back to me by spending it on all that ridiculous merchandise. I wish more of my employees were so devoted. It would make my finances a lot more pleasing to look at.”

Blushing fiercely, Rhys bites his lip. Right. What with the threat of an imminent and violent death and the sexual tension, Rhys apparently managed to forget that the real Handsome Jack was also kind of a dick.

“Sir,” Rhys says, just short above a squeak, because even that realisation does little to calm his fluttering pulse.

Nodding to himself, Jack uncrosses his arms and pats his hip. “Go on,” he says, gesturing expectantly, “show me the goods.”

That must be the least sexy come-on Rhys has ever been subjected to — and that is saying something — and yet his fingers are shaking when he starts unbuttoning first his shirt, then his trousers. 

It’s probably for the best that he’s undressing now, because the chances of him not ruining his shorts again are slimming steadily. He can already feel slick gathering even though nothing has happened yet, his body apparently too keyed up to notice that small and unimportant detail. 

Rhys doesn't look up when he slips out of his shoes, gets rid of his socks, but he can feel Jack's eyes on him the entire time, almost something tangible.

He takes a deep breath, deeper still when he catches a hint of the alpha's scent in the air, buzzing through him like a shock to his entire system, just like the first time. Rhys gets rid of the shirt and jeans quickly, before he can think too much about what it means that he's going to be completely naked in front of Handsome Jack in only a couple of moments. Righting himself again, he focuses his gaze on the silver-green hexagon-shaped contraption on Jack's jacket, heartbeat rushing loudly in his ears. 

His right shoulder twitches, like it does sometimes, and with a jolt he realises that he's still wearing the stupid scarf Yvette gave him.

He just stripped down completely in front of Handsome Jack while still wearing a decorative scarf. Rhys can practically _hear_ Vaughn and Yvette shaking their heads at him in disappointment.

With nervous fingers he reaches up to the scarf, and he didn't even know it was humanly possible, but somehow he manages to get his fingers tangled up in the smooth material, bone and flesh and robotics betraying him equally.

Sometimes Rhys is sure the universe is out to get him personally.

So busy trying to disentangle himself from the red bane of his existence, he only notices that Jack has moved when there's suddenly another body right in front of him, well inside of his personal space.

“Let me,” Jack says, _demands_ , his voice low and deep in a way that hits Rhys like a punch, successfully making even more of his blood rush south.

Contrary to his own, Handsome Jack's fingers are much more efficient at freeing Rhys from his self-inflicted confinement, his fingertips rough whenever they brush against the slowly unveiled skin of Rhys' throat. There's a low growl caught in the little space between them, steadily increasing in volume, and when Rhys bends his neck without conscious thought, his eyelids fluttering shut, Jack presses himself completely against Rhys' front.

The alpha's gaze is a brand, and the skin on Rhys throat _burns_.

Whatever ounce of blood has not yet reached Rhys' cock is currently doing its best to make his face glow red, and he's pretty sure he's going to faint or maybe snap under the tension crackling between them. Their scents thicken, mingling, smelling _right_ in a way Rhys can't explain. 

A small drop of slick slowly runs down the inside of his thigh, down his calves, the side of his foot, and Rhys is acutely aware of it on the entire way down.

Jack places one hand on Rhys' left shoulder, taking his right arm in a sure grip and stretching it out to the side. “Level of sensitivity?” His tone is still quiet, thoughtful.

Rhys doesn't even have to think about it, the information a surety like his name, his birth-date and his favourite icecream flavour. “75% originally, but I was able to tweak it up to 78%.” It comes out a whisper, and he swallows.

A small sound that Rhys decides to take as approval. He manages not to flinch away when Jack's fingers suddenly start tracing over the skin connecting his shoulder to the robotics.

“I don't even have to check your file again to know that you got this done more than a couple of years ago.” His fingers press harder against the scarred skin, and Rhys whines, still not making any attempt to move away, trapped by the alpha's presence and heady scent. “Our process is much more sophisticated now. This looks more like butchery, which I know a thing or two about.”

“T'was a bonus.” The words come out slurred, and somehow in the very back of his head Rhys manages to be slightly alarmed by that.

A low chuckle. “Hell of a bonus you picked there, Rhysie.”

The ridiculous endearment makes him smile, and he has a hard time stopping himself from leaning forward and resting his head in the comfortable looking crook of Jack's neck. He stares at it longingly instead. “Regretted it the moment they started operating,” he says earnestly.

Chuckling again, Jack lets go of his arm and moves to stand behind him, taking his warmth with him but leaving his hand an anchoring weight on Rhys' shoulder.

“Got the ECHO eye and arm done in one go?” Jack asks, his fingers trailing lazily across Rhys' back.

Rhys blinks at the massive desk in front of him, feebly trying to get his brain into working order once more. He manages a vaguely affirmative sound. Jack's appraising him, he realises suddenly, aroused and uncomfortable at the same time.

Jack gives him a slight push, and only the hand he still has on Rhys' shoulder prevents Rhys from planting face-first onto the floor. “Sit on the desk.”

No indication that Rhys should get rid of the arm, which is nice. Still, something a lot like unease begins to stir low in his stomach, even while Rhys follows the command without complaint, shifting on top of the desk until he's as comfortable as he's probably going to be. The smooth material is cool against his sweaty skin, and Rhys shivers.

“There you go,” Jack murmurs encouragingly, stepping closer again and moving Rhys' legs up. His large, calloused hands linger on Rhys' smooth skin while they arrange him until his feet are resting on the armrests of the two chairs facing Jack's desk. The alpha remains there, standing between Rhys' spread thighs, face intent and so obviously _pleased_. 

Rhys shifts back slightly, letting his right arm hold most of his weight, feeling exposed and vulnerable and desired at the same time. He's completely hard now, aching almost, and doesn't even really understand _why_.

Jack hums, presses a finger against Rhys' cock. “Cute.”

Even while he's squirming at the contact, there's a smart remark on top of Rhys' tongue, primed and ready to be unleashed at Jack's stupid grinning alpha-face—

And then the finger moves lower, pushes right into Rhys' body, and Rhys almost arches off the desk.

“I _knew_ you'd prepare yourself for me,” Jack practically crows, pushing another finger in alongside the first one without waiting for Rhys to reply.

Not that Rhys would have managed more than a moan, but still. It's kind of rude of him, even though it's absolutely true.

Jack leans over him, forcing Rhys to lie down completely, his grin morphing into something with a lot of teeth. “Did you come while you were fingering yourself open for me? Did you imagine me doing it?”

Rhys swallows, unable to look away from Jack's face, real and _right there_ , only a hand span between them.

“You did!” Disbelieving, gleeful laughter. “Oh man, if that ain't music to my ears. I’ll even let graciously slide that you jerked off when I explicitly told you not to, because you’re making me all warm and fuzzy inside.” He pushes his fingers into Rhys with purpose, pushing more slick out in the process, and Rhys bites his lip, willing himself not to come from this alone, willing himself to make this last. 

Jack's face comes closer, and he leans up instinctively, eyes fastened on Jack's lips. Teeth close over his bottom lip in the next instant, pulling playfully at it and Rhys whines.

Growling, Jack let's go, fingers spreading the slick over Rhys' hole almost questioningly. “I forgot how messy you lot are.” He pushes his fingers in again suddenly, deeper than before only to remain still, and Rhys tries to fuck himself on them, movements jerky and desperate, but Jack's other hand isn't letting him, holding him down with exhilarating ease. “Still, it's pretty neat.”

Something inside of Rhys' head snaps. “You know what else would be neat?” He gasps for air, trying to focus his blurry eyes on Jack's face. “If you could stop stroking your ego for a second here and started fucking me.” 

The fingers withdraw and Rhys barely has enough time to realise that he messed up big time before Jack's slaps his side, not exactly gentle but not unkind either, and then Jack starts laughing, loud enough that Rhys almost misses the sound of a zipper opening, followed by a condom wrapper.

“Man, kiddo. With a mouth like that, how are you even still alive?” Chuckling now, Jack nudges the tip of his cock against Rhys' entrance, and Rhys doesn't really have an answer to that, left staring wide eyed at Jack's face. There are strands of hair clinging to the edges of the mask, and his shirt is open only just wide enough to give Rhys a glimpse of dark chest hair, a flush spread over the glistening skin there. 

Even considering his impressive collection of pictures, some considerably more G-rated than others, Rhys doesn't think he's ever seen Handsome Jack look this handsome before.

And then Jack grins down at him, pulling Rhys' hips forward to the very edge of the desk with a careless show of strength while also pushing _in_ , and whatever noise Rhys was going to make at the sensation of being stretched so fully, so completely, ends up silently forced out of his gaping mouth. 

He closes his eyes, pretty sure he'll go cross-eyed otherwise.

“I knew you'd look great on my dick,” Jack says before falling silent with a grunt, his fingertips digging into Rhys' hips, seemingly intent on keeping Rhys silent by fucking the air right out of his lungs, shoving himself into Rhys hard enough to shake the desk.

Desperately searching for something to hold on to, Rhys stretches his arms out, knocking something off the desk in the process, and Jack laughs again, sounding gratifyingly breathless.

“Look at me.”

And Rhys hasn't been able to deny Handsome Jack anything yet, won't be able to like this, not with Jack's cock inside of him. He blinks his eyes open again, moans when Jack angles his hips just right in the next moment.

“You know,” Jack says almost conversationally, as if he's not currently pressing bruises into Rhys' skin and fulfilling his most elaborate fantasies. “If you activate your ECHO eye now, you could record yourself the wank material of a lifetime.”

A laugh, high and breathless, startles itself out of Rhys' throat. “I'd never get any work done.” Pause, followed by a gasped inhalation. “Ever again.”

“And I'd have to rip it out of your skull and that'd just be a waste of a pretty face and perfectly fine technology,” Jack agrees easily, and before Rhys' brain can translate that into a mental image, Jack lifts his hips slightly, sliding in just so, again and again, and Rhys grabs for his cock just seconds before he comes, stroking himself through his orgasm.

A growled curse, and Jack bends low over him, the smooth fabric of his mask pressing into Rhys' heaving chest.

Rhys blinks sweat away from the corner of his eyes, staring up at the dark ceiling above them. If he wakes up now and all of this turns out to just have been another really long wet dream, he's going to be _so pissed_.

With an approving whistle Jack pulls out of him, patting his side a couple of times while he pushes the hair away from his forehead. 

The condom drops to the floor with a wet thud.

Carefully, Rhys lowers his legs onto the cool floor, oddly fascinated by the sight of it.

Did he really just have sex with Handsome Jack? _Amazing_ , toe-curling sex that will fuel Rhys' already vivid fantasies for many more years to come? 

The condom seems to be pointing to a resounding _yes_.

Jack moves around the desk, throwing Rhys a self-satisfied smirk over his shoulder that Rhys just barely manages to catch. “Good thing I kept you alive, kiddo. Sometimes I manage to amaze even myself with my foresight.” He lets himself fall into his chair, a clunky, flashy looking thing with a large backrest.

“Yeah,” Rhys says quietly, still winded, “I'm very much in favour of that, of being alive.”

For a moment, Jack considers him with dark eyes, obviously deep in thought.

Wondering what to do with him next? Planning on spacing him after all? Shit, Rhys isn't good at post-coital thinking. 

Usually he just has to lie there and let himself be petted.

Finally, Jack seems to come to a conclusion. He nods to his right, where an inconspicuous door opens as if on cue. “There's a small bathroom in there. Get yourself cleaned up and then see yourself out. I've got work to do.” He glances at his desk and makes a face. “Right after the Cleaning Bots do their job, that is.”

Feeling the flush return full-force, Rhys hastily grabs his clothes. “Of course, thank you, sir, sorry, sir.” He rushes towards the bathroom without even stopping to consider that it might be a trap, closes the door quickly behind himself. 'Making a mess of Handsome Jack's desk' is probably marked right under 'stepping on his toes' is the column for a violent and prolonged death.

Jack's 'small' bathroom turns out to be roughly twice the size of the one he shares with Vaughn, and Rhys is pretty sure that says a lot about this entire situation.

Not wanting to linger too long by wasting his time ogling the almost-stylish design, Rhys steps under the shower, angling his right shoulder away and allowing himself a sigh of relief when the warm water starts beating down on him.

Well, now he knows for certain that this wasn't just a wet-dream. Because in his dreams there were cuddles, and Handsome Jack might have also occasionally told him what a good boy he was.

Rhys wipes his left hand over his face. At this rate, he's sure it's going to be stuck permanently flushed. 

Of course he realises that the Handsome Jack in his fantasies is nothing but a heavily idealised version of the real deal, he isn't that stupid, thank you very much.

But even though Jack dismissed him right after the deed was done, how could Rhys possibly be disappointed?

He presses a finger against one of the already blossoming bruises that will no doubt look spectacular very soon, enjoying the pleasant shudder that follows after. Blindly grabbing for one of the many expensive looking bottles that line the side of the shower, he begins to wash himself diligently, grinning at the thought of smelling like Handsome Jack.

Sure, it would be nice to carry Jack's real scent home with him, to keep it clinging to his skin for just a little bit longer this time, but he also recognises as smart instruction when he's given one.

Walking around practically reeking of sex and Handsome Jack would just paint a bright, blinking target sign right on his back, and The Plan was kind of supposed to do the opposite of that.

Gingerly probing at his opening is enough to make him hiss and his dick twitch with renewed interest. He's going to be fantastically sore tomorrow, and honestly, Rhys is looking forward to be reminded all day of being bent over Handsome Jack's desk and getting fucked within an inch of his life. 

He slowly traces the skin under his navel, sighing happily. Like this, showering in Jack's luxurious bathroom, surrounded by his bathing products and marked by his hands... it's all too easy to start imagining the man joining Rhys for a second round of really fantastic, really messy sex. 

Biting his lip, Rhys leans his head completely under the spray of the shower and turns the water to cold.

Only a couple of seconds later he has to turn the water off in fear of accidentally freezing his dick off. Shuddering, he grabs the yellow towel next to him, pressing his face into it until he feels more like himself again. It's a bit of a surprise as well, really; Rhys never pegged Handsome Jack for a man with a preference for almost sinfully fluffy towels.

After getting himself try, Rhys dresses quickly, his pulse quickening once more and his thoughts falling over themselves, each clamouring for his attention. _What now?_ Will Rhys be allowed to return? Jack seemed to have enjoyed himself as well, but what if he just doesn't _do_ repeats? Or remembers that he doesn’t do omegas after all? Will he even be able to recalls Rhys' name in a couple of days or weeks, when Vasquez inevitably hands in a Request for Termination for the Betterment of the Company?

If Vasquez even bothers to go through the proper channels and doesn't just get rid of him in a quiet moment when all the cameras are conveniently turned away.

Inhaling shakily, Rhys picks up the scarf, the towel still clutched in his other hand, and for a wild moment he thinks about stuffing the towel into the back of his jeans and leaving the scarf behind in its stead. 

Taking a memento and leaving one behind, just to ensure that Handsome Jack will have to remember Rhys, even if only for one small moment.

Rhys snorts at himself. Wow, it's really time he got himself home before he gets even more dramatic.

In the end, he leaves the bathroom without even taking one of the smaller bodywash bottles, in fear of Jack's retribution.

He closes the door behind himself quietly, quickly realising that Jack is currently speaking with somebody.

“... and that's exactly what you told me last week, Owell, and look what you've got to show me after I generously granted you your extension. Nada. Niente. _Nothing_.”

Suddenly, Rhys decides that he doesn't need to to know right now how Jack feels about a repeat. Almost hugging the wall, Rhys slowly inches towards the massive door leading out of Jack's office, occasionally glancing at the man in question, just in case he needs to flee quickly.

“Yeah, that's what I thought. Expect me tomorrow morning and you better deliver this time,” Jack practically spits, enough venom in his voice to make the fine hairs on the nape of Rhys' neck stand up. 

At least he's already halfway there, how likely is it that Jack will even notice, considering he seems to have another, much more important matter on his mind—

“Hey.”

Rhys turns around immediately, letting his body lean nonchalantly against the wall as if he hadn't been basically trying to sneak out of the office on his tiptoes just seconds ago. “Yes, sir?” 

It's a bit difficult to make out his expression from here, but Rhys is pretty sure Jack's not fooled at all. “Surprisingly, you didn't turn out to be a complete waste of my time.”

Rhys swallows, hoping he isn't just imagining the content purr in Jack's voice.

He's still too far away from the exit to have any real chance at escape otherwise.

“Don't worry your pretty head about contacting me.” Jack chuckles, waving a dismissive hand at Rhys. “I've got your number.”

Only Handsome Jack would be able to make such a stale phrase sound like a promise wrapped up in a threat.

“Yes, sir!” Smiling, Rhys barely manages to keep himself from throwing a salute over his shoulder, and leaves the office with giddy excitement bubbling in his veins.

* * *

Vaughn flings the door before Rhys even has the time to reach for the keypad, greeting him with an enthusiastic exclamation of: “He lives!”

Laughing, Rhys lets himself be pulled into the apartment without resistance, waving at Yvette as soon as he spots her sitting on their couch. 

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Yvette says drily, “as always, your input is greatly appreciated.” She scoots over a bit, allowing Vaughn to practically shove Rhys onto the middle of the couch.

It's really not meant for three people, but they make do.

When Rhys' butt is the only part of him still resting on a soft cushion, his head in Yvette's lap, legs stretched out over Vaughn's and dangling off one end of the couch, they finally seem satisfied and stop pulling and prodding at him. At some point, Yvette must have taken her scarf back, because his throat is finally free of it again. 

Rhys doesn't comment on the searching looks and lingering touches.

He's a good friend like that. 

Which doesn't mean he isn't basking in the attention and grinning widely.

“Want the arm off?” Yvette's voice is gentle, and it's not the first question Rhys was expecting. 

Blinking, he rotates his right should thoughtfully. There _is_ a slight ache spreading from the connected nerve-endings, and he tries not to let it show how startled he is that he didn't notice this sooner.

“Yeah.” Rhys nods, leaning onto his side and pressing his face more firmly into the smooth material of Yvette's pencil skirt. With a soft exhale, he disengages the neural connection with a distracted thought.

Vaughn and Yvette's movements are sure and efficient while they are handling him, not unlike Jack's and yet completely different at the same time. Rhys closes his eyes, trying to make sense of that comparison while he listens to the familiar clicks and snaps of machinery being let go of what is left of his shoulder.

The sounds are already way less unnerving than they were a couple of years ago, and Rhys is sure that given a couple more they'll be nothing but white noise.

Rhys doesn't know who of them sets his metal arm down with a careful thud, but Vaughn is the first one to crack.

“Alright, bro.” He pokes Rhys' hip insistently, accidentally hitting one of the already smarting presents Jack's fingers pressed into his skin and Rhys squirms. “Spit it out. Sex with the peerless, the legendary, the one and only Handsome Jack of your dreams. Yay or nay?”

Humming playfully, Rhys scratches at his chin.“How do you know we did the do?” 

Yvette snorts, ruffles his hair thoroughly with just a hint of her fingernails while Rhys tries to ineffectually bat her hands away. “Oh, please. You're obviously freshly showered and _still_ you manage to look exceptionally debauched.”

With a startled laugh, Rhys opens his eyes again. “Debauched, really?”

Yvette merely raises an eyebrow in answer.

Okay, so maybe Rhys is having a bit too much fun making them wait. Still, he can't resist. “You sure you want the dirty details?”

Checking both of their faces in turn, it's difficult to say which one of his friends looks the most conflicted. Rhys contemplates this vital ruling for a couple of seconds. Vaughn, probably. Yvette looks slightly less like she just bit into a lemon while thinking about Vasquez naked.

Rhys _wants_ to tell them, though, describe in detail what it felt like to have all of Handsome Jack's attention focused entirely on you — unnerving, _exhilarating_ — and how their combined scents smelt like they were supposed to be that way, the give and take, how they just fit together, effortlessly, naturally—

He bites his lip, swallowing what he's sure would just be labeled another dreamy sigh.

“Actually...” Yvette says, face open and earnest in a way that instantly makes Rhys suspicious. “There's always talk about how well endowed he is.” She grins down at him, and suddenly Rhys has the very real urge to flee. “Just how life-like _is_ that ridiculous monster-dildo you've got stashed away behind your nightstand that you think we don't know about?”

Rhys makes a high pitched noise, face burning. “I hate you both.” He kicks at Vaughn's cackling form, only to have his legs efficiently captured by Vaughn's steel arms.

Laughing, Yvette pats his hair. “We know, Rhys, we know.”

Realising when he's soundly defeated, Rhys puts his arm over his stomach and pouts.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack doesn’t contact him in the next week, which is fine and to be expected. What with Jakobs steadily on the rise again, it’s safe to assume he’s got more important stuff to deal with than getting laid.

The same probably can’t be said about himself. Now that Rhys can mix fantasy with reality, he ends up jerking off to the memory of Handsome Jack’s hands on him pretty much every night. It distracts him from the ever-growing, self-satisfied smirk on Vasquez’ smarmy face, and the increasingly haunted look on Henderson’s, at least a little.

Vaughn gives him long-suffering looks over it, but because he’s a real bro, he doesn’t say anything.

* * *

After another week, Rhys gets called into Henderson’s office.

Only, it’s not Henderson sitting behind the desk, not even his nameplate resting on it anymore.

“Rhys!” Vasquez greets him with outstretched arms. “You’re probably wondering why I called you here.” He gestures for Rhys to come closer, to sit down in one of the chairs he spent countless of hours on already, poring over reports with Henderson and desperately chasing the latest unreasonable deadline from above.

Rhys can’t move. Wouldn’t, even if he wanted to.

There is no air in his lungs.

No. _Nonono_. Not now, not yet, it’s way too early, Rhys is still fair game, Vasquez _can’t_ —

“I know we’ve had our differences, and while I’m sure we could have both acted more maturely, you do have to admit that you tend to behave rather—”

Vasquez’ voice fades away, Rhys’ eyes stuck on the window behind him, on the view that is usually a welcome distraction from words that are running together after you’ve been staring for too long at them.

He never expected to see Henderson— 

_No_ , Rhys corrects himself sharply, with the equivalent of a mental slap to the face. It’s not Henderson that’s slowly drifting by outside. 

It’s a body, nothing more, nothing out of the ordinary at Hyperion, really, except—

Except that’s Henderson’s face staring back at him, forever frozen in blue-tinted horror. And even if Rhys turned his back on Henderson like everybody else once it became clear that he was sinking and no longer swimming, Rhys never wanted to remember his erstwhile mentor like _this_.

Rhys is going to be sick, can feel his lunch turn sour inside of his stomach.

Vasquez’ dry chuckle startles him, and Rhys’ wide eyes move to him instead. “That’s… some unfortunate timing indeed.” He looks at Rhys solemnly. “I’m very sorry that you had to see that, Rhys.”

In all of his year on Helios, he’s never heard a less convincing lie.

“Ah, well.” Vasquez casually waves a hand, like nothing happened, nothing at all. “As I was saying, I’m sure we can—”

He can’t stay here for even a second longer, not with Vasquez’s triumph staring at him with the ghastly face of Henderson’ corpse.

“I need to go.” Rhys doesn’t even care if he is admitting defeat by running away now. What does it matter anyway, at this point?

It’s over.

“Of course, Rhys,” Vasquez’ voice calls after him, still cheerful. “I’m sure we’ll have a chance to talk again later!”

If that isn’t a threat then Rhys will eat one of his favourite socks. He shudders, hastens his steps, and somehow manages not be sick on the polished floors. Rhys calls in sick for the rest of the day, doesn’t care what it will look like on his file — emotionally compromised, potentially unpredictable.

 _Expendable_.

It really is over.

* * *

His friends know. Of course they do. News travel quickly, and changes in the upper positions are always a hot topic.

They don’t comment on the sad little pillow fort Rhys built for himself at the side of Vaughn’s bed, all the pillows he could find and a threadbare blanket pushed together against the cruel reality towering outside.

They undress quietly and efficiently, joining Rhys inside in only their underwear.

It’s not comfortable, too narrow and heating up immediately. There’s an elbow pressed into Rhys side, and one of Yvette’s feet is poking out of the entrance, not quite enough space for it to fit in as well.

Rhys can’t even manage to build a passable pillow fort.

He hiccups, and Vaughn leans in to kiss his temple, hugs him even closer. Yvette’s arms tighten around them both, and she begins to hum, a slow, vaguely familiar melody.

His friends remain silent and comforting at his side, and at least Rhys still has this, even if he might not have a future anymore.

* * *

And just like that, Rhys becomes painfully aware again of just how many camera-blind corners he passes by every day.

* * *

They could make run for it, of course. Take a couple hundreds here and there, and hope it’s not enough to warrant Enforcers to be sent after them.

All they would have to do is leave behind the small corner of Helios they’ve carved out for themselves, and to admit that they couldn't make it after all.

Finding another job isn’t their biggest worry. The companies which don’t just peg and dismiss them as plants right away would want to benefit from their insider knowledge, ignorant or indifferent to the long reach of Helios, of eyes and ears everywhere.

It’s unspoken knowledge, and probably one of the many, many stipulations you agree to when you sign the one-hundred-something pages long contract.

You might decide to leave Hyperion, but Hyperion will never truly leave you.

* * *

During week three after Rhys’ tryst with Handsome Jack, Vasquez calls their entire department together, expression solemn. “It’s with a heavy heart that I have to make this announcement.”

“But the rumours that my hair is as fake as my aforementioned heart are all true,” Ezmir adds under his breath, receiving a couple of well concealed snickers.

Rhys doesn't feel like laughing, not anymore.

“Last night, our dearest Esther passed away in a tragic accident.” 

A sudden hush falls over the room.

Vasquez shakes his head. “I’m not surprised. There were always rumours the Skag Enclosure isn’t nearly as safe as the eggheads make it out to be.”

Genuine and feigned grief spreads through the gathered crowd, and Rhys swallows thickly, glad that nobody is paying attention to him or to his shaking hands.

Esther was the only one who openly dared to oppose Vasquez by bringing up Henderson again and again after his Termination.

Rhys didn’t know her well enough to mourn her now, and he’s not even sure anybody in this room actually liked her. Esther was nosy, always trying to push her nose into other people’s business, but...

But her biggest crimes were smelling like wet dog and never letting Vasquez forget that she would still rather have Henderson sitting in his place, and Rhys doesn’t think she deserved to be torn apart by Skags for that.

It doesn’t take long for everybody to get bored of speculating about the _hows_ and _whys_. Deadly accidents aren’t exactly a rare occurrence at Hyperion, after all.

“Remember to stay safe, boys and girls!” 

Shuddering, Rhys slinks back to work with the others, making sure to avoid looking in Vasquez’ direction. 

He sleeps badly enough these days.

 _Tragic accident, my ass_ , Rhys mouths silently, something hopeless and miserable lodged in his throat. He lets himself fall heavily onto his chair, staring blankly at his screen for long, useless minutes.

It makes him wonder, though. What is it again that actually kills you, when you are spaced — the incredible cold? 

Or is it the lack of air that does you in, long before you can even feel the freezing hands of hypothermia settling on your body?

* * *

Vaughn and Yvette take Vasquez’ latest play for power even worse than he did, and so week four finds them all huddled close together on Yvette’s bed.

With his head resting on her stomach while his feet are dangling off the bed, and Vaughn fiddling with his glasses next to them, Rhys enjoys not having to think for a while.

Not having to remember who’s already gone and who’s probably next on the list. 

At least until Yvette says quietly, fingers still carding through Rhys’ hair, “There’s another option.”

Torn away from his restful bubble, Rhys huffs sullenly. He doesn't make a snide comment about how well her last plan worked out for them.

It’s not her fault that Rhys brought Vasquez down on their heads. That Rhys wasn’t good enough to capture and keep Handsome Jack’s attention.

Vaughn curses quietly at his glasses and presses a button rather viciously, obviously not listening. 

Someday, he’ll learn to listen to Rhys and not always install the newest updates right away. Maybe Rhys will even still be around to see that day. 

“Next Friday, I’ll make a move for the position of head of my department.”

Vaughn’s attention instantly shifts to her, and Rhys turns around in the same beat, props up his face so his chin doesn’t dig into Yvette’s belly.

Her hands come to rest loosely on Rhys’ shoulders. She doesn't elaborate.

“I thought you and Erin got along well.” Vaughn, bless his fantastic memory, phrases it carefully, and not like a question at all.

Yvette inhales deeply and Rhys watches her chest expand, then deflate again with a long exhale. “We do.”

“Okay,” Rhys agrees, after another beat passes.

Grinning wryly, Yvette shakes her head, glancing at them. “We arrived on Helios at the same time. The only alpha girls of our age group in the entire department.” Her voice turns wistful. “I guess we bonded over that.”

There's clearly more to it, a lot more, but for once Rhys doesn't feel like prying. They've all got their secrets, small harmless things that belong only to them.

“And you are sure you can do it?”

Rhys kind of wants to hit Vaughn for being so blunt, but with Yvette so unnaturally reserved, he can also understand the concern. 

Yvette sends them both a sharp look over her glasses, her will and steel in it, both equally unyielding. “We have a truce,” she says matter-of-factly, “But circumstances change.”

“Alright.” Vaughn nods, apparently satisfied by the answer. “Just tell us what you need us to do, 'vette.” He gives her a thumb ups, and Rhys almost smiles, despite the heavy atmosphere in the room. “We've got your back.”

She huffs. “Thanks.” Yvette falls silent again then, and the tension turns melancholic. “There's no need for you to get your hands dirty. And...” A tightening of her mouth, something that looks suspiciously like pain flickers across her features, and Rhys swallows a small sound. 

When Yvette turns to face them again, she's calm and collected once more. “This is something I have to do on my own.”

Rhys presses his face against her nightgown, hiding from them both. “'m sorry.” If he had just tried harder to please Jack, if he had just been more attractive, less like an omega, maybe, if he had just never picked a fight with Vasquez, if—

Yvette gently pokes his head. “Don't be ridiculous, Rhys. It’s not your fault Handsome Jack’s taste in lovers is just as bad as his fashion sense.”

“Hey!” Rhys protests immediately, naturally opposed to any bad word spoken about Jack, despite the rejection. 

Her words do make him feel slightly less like an utter failure, though, but Rhys doesn't have to admit that out loud.

Vaughn drapes himself over Rhys' back suddenly, pressing him even closer against Yvette and forcing a squeak out of him. “Seriously, I could never figure out if I'm just hallucinating or if he really is wearing a jacket, a vest _and_ a sweatshirt over a t-shirt. What is wrong with the man?” He scratches Rhys' neck, a truly unfair move that never fails to make him squirm.

“Apart from the obvious, you mean, which is a lot?” Yvette points out helpfully, her voice light.

“Guys, please.” Rhys tries to wiggle out from underneath Vaughn, gives up soon enough when Vaughn doesn't even budge an inch. He raises a finger, not having given up on educating them quite yet. “The many layers are a manifestation of his complex personality, which is obvious when you—”

“ _Rhys_ ,” Vaughn begs, somewhere between horrified and incredulous, “Please, for the love of everything that is divisible by itself, _stop_.”

With Vaughn's snorted chuckles ruffling along Rhys' left ear, and Yvette's belly shaking with quiet laughter underneath him, before he knows it, Rhys is having a hard time not giggling into Yvette's nightgown himself.

Even if Handsome Jack has probably already forgotten that he exists, Rhys is grateful for the chance he got, for the memories he'll never let fade away.

Handsome Jack is still his idol, that hasn't changed, won’t ever change. Which is why Rhys can quietly admit to himself that their critique of his fashion sense isn't entirely unfounded.

The jacket is slightly overkill.

* * *

It’s not that Rhys doubts Yvette's capabilities. Just look at the luxurious apartment that she somehow managed to snag for herself without anybody making a fuss about it being way above her pay grade. Her official pay grade, that is.

Still, he can't help the jitters that claim him on Thursday afternoon, when Friday is drawing relentlessly closer.

It certainly doesn’t help calm his nerves when he notices Vasquez walking towards him, murder on his face and an ECHO clutched tightly in his hand as if he’s prepared to make violent and creative use of it.

Just his luck, isn’t it? His time is up one day before Yvette can work her magic behind the scenes.

“Handsome Jack wants for you to bring this to him right away,” Vasquez presses out between clenched teeth, once he’s towering over Rhys’ seated form.

Hastily jumping to his feet, Rhys’ heart skips are least three beats, a myriad of emotions making his head spin. He breathes carefully through his mouth, because with the dizzying tumult wreaking havoc in his stomach right now, Vasquez’ cloying scent would probably be enough to make him sick. “Okay.” His voice cracks, and he reaches for the ECHO with only minimally shaking fingers.

Vasquez doesn’t let go. “He asked for _you_ , specifically.”

Rhys stares back at him with wide eyes. _Careful now, careful, you’re still on borrowed time…_ He wets his lips, ignores Vasuqez’ eyes following the movement with years of practise alone. “Oh.” Okay, that could have been smoother. Time to step up his game, and quickly!

“Obviously, Jack didn’t say your name.” A sneer steals settles on Vasquez’ mouth. “Probably doesn’t even know you have one, but—” Vasquez points an accusing finger in Rhys’ face, voice tight. “But he described you to me, in detail, and not nearly as insulting as he usually does when he doesn’t know the name of you lowlife nobodies!”

What is that even supposed to _mean_? Rhys frowns, tugging on the ECHO again, to no avail. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting, in that case,” he tells Vasquez earnestly, thrilled when Vasquez actually growls.

He’s less thrilled when Vasquez steps close enough that their chests are almost touching

“I’m keeping my eyes on you, Rhys, don’t you forget that.” Vasquez’ voice is a threatening hiss, face an ugly mask of anger.

“I would be hurt if you didn’t,” Rhys snaps right back, not even bothering to regret it. There’s only so much bullshit he can swallow before some of it inevitably bubbles up again.

Rhys finally pulls the ECHO out of Vasquez’ hand, and quickly makes for the door before _he_ ends up misusing it as a weapon.

* * *

As soon as he’s in a relatively quiet hallway, Rhys activates his palm-comp.

Yvette answers gratifyingly fast. “Everything okay? Wait— are you on the run?” Her voice rises in alarm.

Laughing breathlessly, Rhys shakes his head. “No, no, don’t worry!” He leans against a huge silver flowerpot for a second, hoping to calm the burning sensation in his lugs. Shit, he really needs to exercise more, but even watching Vaughn on his treadmill is enough to make Rhys tired. He says quietly, around a giddy giggle, “Guess who was just personally requested to deliver something to Handsome Jack!”

Silence, and then Yvette lets out a long, long exhale. “Rhys, you’re the _best_.” Relieved joy in every word. 

Rhys winks at his reflection in the shiny flowerpot. “I know, I know.” Grinning, Rhys pats his chest. “Even Handsome Jack can’t resist this face and body, not to mention my winning charm.”

Oh, damn. Is he presentable enough? If Rhys had known he would meet Handsome Jack again today, he wouldn’t have left his tie behind so carelessly this morning! What if an incomplete outfit is a deal breaker for Jack? 

_Shit_ , what if Jack’s listening in on them right now, and Rhys just managed to cockblock himself without even trying to by not being humble enough? Rhys said nothing that wasn’t true, but some people are so weird about confident bedpartners… He bites his tongue, starts jogging forward again, a bit less enthusiastic than before.

Yvette snorts, stopping Rhys’ ever increasing panic in its tracks. “Of course.” She sighs suddenly, as if genuinely upset. “Vasquez is such an asshole. You know, it would be nice to be able to sleep once in a while without having to worry about him.”

Confused, Rhys almost responds with an irritated, _is it your turn playing Captain Obvious today?_

Then his brain finally catches up with the conversation.

Rhys scratches at the back of his neck, embarrassed it took him this long. Right. He should probably be more excited about The Plan being a success than about the simple prospect of having another chance with Jack. “Oh, yeah, absolutely.” Rhys hopes that is inoffensive enough to anybody who might be listening in.

In his defence, when it comes to Handsome Jack his priorities have always been slightly skewed.

“Alright. You go have fun with our wonderful leader, and I'll tell Vaughn the good news.” She laughs. “And make a couple of light changes to the date I had planned out for tomorrow.”

Smiling, Rhys increases his pace once more, the first stage of his goal already in sight. “Gotcha. Until later!”

The guard actually takes the ECHO away from Rhys before he can say anything, turning it this and that way only to wave him through without comment.

Rhys can’t help but get the impression that this was just for show. He isn’t even mad, though. Standing around menacingly all day long must be pretty boring.

The ride up seems obnoxiously slow, as if the elevator is taking its sweet time, and Rhys restlessly taps with one foot, convinced he already made Handsome Jack wait for too long. Only two of the cutting-edge scanners are active this time, so Rhys can’t even find a distraction there.

Just about managing not to sprint the last couple of feet to Jack’s office, Rhys is still winded when the huge door opens on its own to let him in.

Handsome Jack is busily typing away at his desk, and Rhys quietly approaches him, ECHO pressed to his chest like a sorry excuse for a shield. He reaches for his hair to make sure that everything is still in place when Jack’s eyes suddenly snap to him.

“There you are. I wasn’t sure good old Wallethead understood my instructions.” He shakes his head, grinning in a way that makes Rhys’ knees weak. “I considered drawing and then sending him a picture to make sure he did.”

Rhys smiles, carefully climbing the steps and hoping he won’t trip and fall on his face. He has no idea where the nickname comes from, but he’s relatively sure Jack is speaking about Vasquez. “Yeah, he does make you want to reach for the crayons sometimes.”

Jack raises an eyebrow, and Rhys realises that maybe he shouldn’t bad talk his direct supervisor in front of the big boss.

He swallows loudly.

Snorting, Jack turns his chair, beckoning Rhys closer. “One of these days that mouth is going to get you in real trouble, kiddo.”

Rhys stops at the side of the desk, equal parts nervous and intoxicated by Jack’s easy posture, the inviting v of his spread legs. “I don’t mind when it’s the good kind of trouble.” He means for it to come out lightly, but his dry throat turns the words into something deep and rough. “Sir,” he squeaks, face heating up.

This time, Jack’s grin shows a lot of white, and Rhys hopes it isn't obvious just how much of his weight is currently being supported by the desk alone. 

Jack takes the already forgotten ECHO from Rhys’ fingers, letting it fall onto his desk without even looking at it. His hands reach for Rhys then, and Rhys lets himself be pulled in, breathing in deeply the alpha’s scent, letting it warm him from the inside out. Absently, Jack taps Rhys’ right arm once before spreading his fingers out over Rhys’ hips. “Take that off, then your shoes.” 

Well, that doesn’t quite dampen the mood, but it definitely clears Rhys’ head a bit. He bites his lip before he says something childish and hurt he would probably be really made to regret, choosing to do as he’s told instead.

The clicks and whirs seem to echo obnoxiously loud in the spacious office, and Rhys presses his teeth together hard while he detaches his arm. 

Jack watches it all avidly, and before Rhys can ask, Jack takes the detached arm from him with a sure grip, placing it carefully on the desk without comment. 

When Rhys sinks to his knees to deal with his shoes next, Jack actually hums.

It doesn't take long for Rhys to slip out of his shoes, despite the disadvantage, but still his own gaze ends up drawn to the noticeable bulge in Jack’s pants before long. He can’t seem to make himself look away again, not even when Jack chuckles.

“Easy, tiger. Patience is a virtue and all that crap.” A thoughtful pause, and he lightly kicks Rhys' discarded shoes with his own. “Skag leather?”

Somehow managing to tear his eyes away from Jack’s crotch again, Rhys looks up at Jack’s face. 

Is that a trick question or genuine curiosity? If Rhys' brain could just kindly stop salivating over the thought of Jack's dick for a second here, he probably wouldn't have such a difficult time deciding that. “Yes, sir.” He manages not to turn his answer into a counter-question, but only barely.

Jack huffs, his tone thoughtful. “You know, sometimes I think about turning those into the Next Big Thing and enjoying the dwindling numbers of those ugly beasts and the idiots dumb enough to underestimate them.” His attention flickers to the large window behind them, to Pandora slowly spinning in the distance, back to Rhys, a dark gleam in his mismatched eyes. “But then I remember how much fun it is to inject them with whatever we’ve got on hand right now, and settling down with some popcorn to watch them mutate, and I always decide against it.”

He laughs, and Rhys forces himself to smile, not letting himself think about former colleagues and monstrous horrors in the hazy shape of Skags. 

Handsome Jack rolls his chair away, padding the underside of his desk helpfully. “Go on, make yourself comfortable.” He winks exaggeratedly. “Just not too comfortable.” 

Glad for the distraction, Rhys shuffles forward, not even bothering to make his movements anything resembling seductive.

If that’s what Jack wanted, then he should have left Rhys his other arm.

Despite the resentful feeling bubbling low in his stomach, when Jack shifts back again, effectively boxing Rhys in, there’s still enough space for Rhys not to feel trapped. He looks up at Jack expectantly. 

Jack’s eyebrows climb up high on his forehead. “What, you waiting on a written invitation?” He pointedly thrusts his hips forward into Rhys’ face, grinning. “Get your treat. You can even use your hand!” He chuckles throatily. “Wouldn't want to make it too difficult for you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Rhys says sweetly. He leans forward, and pointedly only uses his mouth to lower Jack’s zipper out of spite.

“Woah, watch your teeth there, kitten.” It’s not a warning, though, merely an interested observation.

To Rhys’ great delight, Jack isn’t wearing underwear. His mouth waters immediately, enough to almost give him difficulties when he’s dragging the zipper all the way down.

One of Jack’s hands takes hold of Rhys’ hair in a firm grip, the other thumbing the button of his trousers open. Erection finally free of its confines, Jack sighs, fingernails dragging over Rhys’ scalp. “That’s the ticket,” he growls approvingly when Rhys' breath ghosts over his heated skin, and Rhys licks slowly up his length, always a sucker for praise.

He moans at the taste of Jack on his tongue, but it’s not enough, not after over a month, not after Rhys was already convinced he’d never have this again. He rests his hand on Jack’s knee, sucking the entire length into his mouth in the next breath.

It’s gratifying when Jack hisses, muscles jolting underneath Rhys’ palm. “Fuck.” He whistles quietly. “Where were you last week? I really could have used some of this.”

Rhys doesn’t bother saying anything, and not only for obvious reasons. Mainly, he’s pretty sure, _waiting with baited breath for your call_ and _paralysed by the fear of a constantly looming death_ might kill the mood a bit.

Instead, he hollows his cheeks before dragging his mouth up again, taking his time.

Jack scratches the back of his neck, and Rhys shows his appreciation by pressing his tongue to the underside of Jack’s cock before taking it in completely again.

Rhys isn’t really aware of his eyes falling shut, too absorbed by Jack’s weight on his tongue, the almost too wide stretch of his throat. He works Jack’s cock thoroughly, chasing after the increasing intensity of his taste, his own cock leaving a steadily expanding wet spot in the front of his pants.

The shallow breathing above him speeds up, and Rhys needs to make Jack come, _longs_ for it. He’s so hard it almost hurts, enough slick gathering that he presses an ankle against the steady trickle of it, riding the sensation.

The fingers on the back of his neck dig in, bordering on painful. 

Rhys stops moving immediately, instinctively, nose pressed into Jack's dark curls, Jack's cock stuffed down his throat as far as it will go. Frowning, Rhys blinks his eyes open again, confusedly searches for the alpha’s face.

Jack chuckles, wraps his hand around Rhys’ neck.

There’s no need to react, to be afraid, and so Rhys doesn't even twitch, simply waits and observes, slightly accusing.

“Aw, don’t be mad. I just had a _fantastic_ idea, and I only need you to shake your pretty little head a couple of times and then you can go back to having fun. Does that sound good?” He lets one finger rest on Rhys’ Adam’s apple, not restrictive but possessive. 

Nodding slowly, Rhys pats the alpha’s knee pointedly, urging him to hurry up. How is Rhys supposed to think _now_ of all times, with Jack’s hard cock stretching his mouth?

“What did I tell you about patience?” Jack scolds, but he sounds too amused for there to be a sting to his words. He waits for a couple beats, eyes half-closed and his mismatched gaze all the more intense for it. “Swallow.”

For once, Rhys has no trouble following orders. He does, throat constricting around Jack's length.

Laughing breathlessly, Jack caresses Rhys’ hair with his other hand. “What do you say, Rhysie. You stay here for a while, just like this. Would you like that?”

Honestly, for being the smartest man in the known universes, Handsome Jack asks some really dumb questions. Rhys lets his teeth graze along Jack’s cock, smiles when that earns him another appreciative hiss.

“I’ll just take that as a yes, then.” Jack pats his head, almost as if he’s rewarding a pet for good behaviour, and Rhys doesn’t quite understand the thrill that thought sends down straight to his cock. “And don't worry about getting into trouble with Wallethead.” He takes his hand away from Rhys’ hair, and the sound of keys being hit follows it in its absence. “I’ll let him know that I’ve got you running laps in my office to amuse me. While he’s reminiscing over times past, the two of us will have some quality time together.” Jack grins down at Rhys. “Win, win, really, don’t you agree, kiddo?”

Rhys hums around Jack’s cock in agreement, and the hand Jack still has around his throat tightens once, as if trying to feel the outline of it, before letting go. 

“Perfect, I knew we’d be on the same wavelength here.” Jack gives him a thumbs-up. “Just stay exactly like this. I’ll let you know when I need something else from you.”

And with that, Jack turns his eyes away from Rhys.

For a second, Rhys remains blinking up at the clasp on Jack’s chin. Then he shrugs inwardly, and edges forward slightly, just enough to carefully rest his right shoulder against Jack’s thigh. No complaint, and so he stretches his legs apart behind himself, always mindful of the cock stretching his mouth. 

He wiggles until he’s as comfortable as he’s going to get, and it’s a lot more difficult than he thought, not doing anything with the tempting weight on his tongue; his muscles stay tense, ready to obey Jack’s orders any second now.

But all Jack does is talk business on the phone, hack away on his keyboard, and mumble to himself under his breath while he’s tinkering with something on his desk.

Rhys exists only in this darkened corner, surrounded by Jack’s scent, grounded by his taste and body, and soon enough the world outside fades away completely. 

All Rhys has to do is keep the softening cock in his mouth warm and wet and safe. He closes his eyes and lets that be the only thing that matters, ignoring his own need, the slick slowly dripping out of him.

An indeterminate amount of time later, the alpha’s hand finds the back of his throat again, and Rhys jolts at the contact, his eyes open but not really seeing anything.

“Still with me?” Jack’s voice is low, private, and Rhys presses his tongue against the underside of Jack’s cock in answer.

A pleased growl, and the rough fingers begin scratching at the back of his neck again, in lazy, wide circles. 

Encouraged, Rhys works his mouth up and down on Jack’s cock enthusiastically, getting it to harden fully, until Jack is breathing roughly above him, intoxicating drops of his come coating Rhys’ tongue—

The hand moves away from his neck abruptly and Rhys stops his ministrations, blood rushing in his ears. Arousal is burning a hole in his stomach, has been the entire time, and this rate, he’ll ruin both his pants and trousers for sure.

Jack’s attention is elsewhere once more, and Rhys remains where he is, waiting for it to return to him while the cock in his mouth softens until it's half hard.

Rhys isn’t sure how often this cycle repeats itself. He’s lost all sense of the present, of himself, there’s nothing of importance but following the alpha’s instructions and pleasing him.

This time, the hand fists itself in his hair, and Rhys swallows once around Jack’s cock before drawing back and licking at its tip.

He alternates between applying firm and gentle pressure with his tongue, draws back to suck at the side of it until Jack is hard again, and Jack never once stops raking his fingernails over Rhys’ scalp.

The attention makes Rhys senses sing, and Rhys shows his happiness by taking the entire length in again.

The alpha’s other hand comes to rest on the side of his face, and Rhys realises that the rules have changed.

“I’m going to fuck your throat now, Rhysie,” Jack tells him in gravely tones, and Rhys relaxes at once, letting the alpha take complete control of his body, granting him permission to do with it however he pleases.

Jack wastes no time, moving his hips forward and back again on the chair, his hands pushing Rhys’ head in counter-rhythm to it.

Rhys is going to have finger-shaped bruises all over his face and he doesn’t care, not when the force of Jack’s need for him is making the chair roll away from the desk with every thrust, Rhys dragged along on his knees for the ride.

A particularly harsh thrust draws a moan out of him, and tears prickle at the corners of his eyes.

He’s never been this hard in his life.

Warmth floods his throat all too soon, and Rhys only chokes on it a little, distracted by the delighted laugh of the alpha.

Jack’s eyes are closed, his softening cock lying on Rhys’ tongue and his sweaty palms still resting on Rhys’ face. He doesn’t move.

And so neither does Rhys, slowly savouring the taste in his mouth. He’s fascinated by the heavy rise and fall of the alpha’s chest, thrilled by the blissful tilt of his parted lips.

Lazily, Jack’s eyes open again, bright and captivating. He tilts his head, considering Rhys’ still kneeling form for a long moment. 

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Jack pulls his cock out of Rhys’ mouth. 

The loss of it makes Rhys blink stupidly, vaguely aware that he probably doesn’t look very presentable right now. Not that it matters, with just the two of them here. He licks his smarting lips carefully, and a slow smile claims Jack’s mouth.

“Come here,” he orders quietly, his large hands tugging Rhys’ relentlessly forward before Rhys has even the slightest chance to voice a protest.

His legs are deeply asleep, completely useless and Rhys whines pathetically when thousands of needles suddenly start attacking him.

Undeterred from the pained gasps that force themselves out of Rhys’ aching throat, Jack heaves him up and into his lap, Rhys’ unresponsive weight making them roll backwards until they hit the huge glass pane behind them. The impact almost makes their heads knock together, and Jack laughs again, exuberant.

Rhys fists his hand into Jack’s vest, bites his lip to keep the whimpers inside. It’s not enough to affect his erection, but having feeling returning to his legs really, really _hurts_.

Jack hushes him, one of his hands busily working on the zipper of Rhys’ trousers. “Such a good boy,” he coos, pressing his nose against Rhys’ temple. “Such a good, obedient boy.” He pushes his hand into Rhys’ pants, and drags his knuckles roughly over Rhys’ balls, probably not even aware that his breath is ghosting over Rhys’ port.

Combined with the faintest brush of the back of Jack’s hand against his cock, and Jack’s words, better than anything Rhys ever made up in his dreams, this is more than enough to send Rhys over the edge.

He screams hoarsely, back arching almost violently, and if not for Jack’s other hand on his tailbone, he would have fallen right off the chair. 

Rhys lets himself slump heavily against Jack’s front, panting open-mouthed against the side of his throat.

Jack rests his chin on Rhys’ head, humming contently. He wipes his hand on Rhys’ trousers.

Honestly, Rhys doesn’t even care.

It doesn’t take long until Jack’s legs are tapping restlessly underneath Rhys’ ass, and Rhys disentangles himself from Jack, stands up on still shaky legs before Jack can ask him to do so.

He winces, only now noticing that his entire body is one big ache.

Jack whistles. “Damn, kiddo.” He licks his lips, eyes raking up and down Rhys’ dishevelled form. “Looking at you is almost enough to make me hard again. Go try to make yourself at least a little presentable before I can consider unleashing you on the general population again, will you?” 

His nod in the direction of the bathroom is unnecessary.

The promise of water, fresh and cold, has Rhys’ feet moving there even before Jack has finished speaking. He barely manages to linger for long enough to grab his shoes in passing before his body’s insistent demand for something to drink has him hurrying along faster.

He doesn’t bother closing the door this time, just sticks his head underneath the silver faucet and greedily gulps down the cool water until he begins to feel a bit sick. 

Rhys wipes his wet hand over his face, pushes the sweaty hair away from his forehead. Frowning, he looks down at the dirty patch on his thigh and rubs at it until it looks mostly like he just had a clumsy accident, and not like some inconsiderate jerk wiped come off on it.

Rhys inspects his reflection critically. Flushed cheeks and a bruised mouth, which is to be expected. Darker red spots high up on his cheeks which might pass for a rash until they turn into bruises.

No reason to lie about it; he looks really hot. Winking at himself, he pulls up his zipper, smoothing his rumpled clothing out as much as possible before leaving the bathroom again.

Not really sure if Jack expects him to leave right away, he walks parallel to the man’s desk, hoping Jack will turn his attention away from whatever he’s fiddling with and back to him before Rhys has to make the decision on his own.

“What are you doing all the way over there? Get your perky little ass back here!” Jack doesn’t even look up, but Rhys hurries over anyway, every step helpfully reminding him of the uncomfortable position he stayed in for so long, and of the slick that is now slowly drying on his skin.

Shit, he’s really not looking forward to going back to work for— he unobtrusively checks in with his ECHO eye for a second — another hour. Okay. Rhys lets out a long breath. An hour sounds almost manageable.

He’ll just have to manage to somehow stay far, far away from Vasquez, because even Vasquez can probably add one to one together and get the correct answer for once.

Jack scrutinizes him for a beat, nods. Then he asks slowly, both eyebrows raised, “You do realise you could have asked me for something to drink, right?” 

Rhys scratches at the back of his neck, and looks down at his feet.

“Okay.” Jack chuckles, shakes his head. “Point two. Do you at least realise that you’re missing something rather important or were you really going to leave without your other arm? I mean, I get it. It’s not the newest model, but still.”

What is he—

 _Oh_.

Rhys’ eyes fly to the desk, to the long, oil-smeared fingers tapping expectantly on Rhys’ metal arm. 

Snorting, Jack leans his face against one palm, smearing a bit of oil on his cheek in the process. “Wow. Did I just fuck your brains out? I didn’t think that was even possible until now.”

“I didn’t forget about it,” Rhys says, voice nothing but a whisper. He makes a move for the arm, intending to grab and flee with it immediately before he embarrasses himself even further.

The grin on Jack’s mouth tells Rhys that he isn’t buying any of it. Jack stands up, moving closer to Rhys. “Let me do the honours.”

It’s not a request. 

_He probably doesn’t even have that word in his vocabulary_ , Rhys thinks moodily, face still burning. He keeps his eyes on a corner of Jack’s mouth — still raised in amusement.

Maybe not really a surprise, but Jack’s hands are sure on him. “While 78% is commendable for somebody who isn’t working in Robotics, I know we’ve been able to push this model up to 86.6%.” He connects the arm to Rhys’ shoulder easily, no guidance needed.

Rhys was well aware that his arm wasn’t running at full-efficiency. It was impossible not to, what with the constant aches and the shiny new models on display everywhere. 

But the assholes from Robotics are elitist dicks, a closed-off bunch convinced they’re Handsome Jack’s favourites simply because statistically, Jack has gotten rid of them in messy ways _slightly_ less often. It’s flimsy reasoning at best, but still they think themselves above everybody else, and Rhys never found an in with any of them.

At first glance, the wall of numbers his ECHO eye is displaying shows nothing out of the ordinary, but the process itself still feels… different. Rhys tilts his head in question, curious but not sure his throat would forgive him any more activity just yet. He flexes his fingers experimentally, and Jack takes hold of his wrist, watching the movement closely.

“I didn’t really have enough time or the right tools here to quite get there, but on this level you should already experience less of a strain on the nerves of your shoulder.” Jack lets go of his arm, rests his fists at his hips expectantly.

Rhys opens and closes his mouth, staring dumbly at Jack’s face, oozing with smug pride.

Did… did Handsome Jack just tweak Rhys’ arm? While he had his cock in Rhys’ mouth? Somehow, Rhys’ brain is having some problem connecting the two pictures together.

He makes himself nod, says softly, “Thank you, sir.”

“Hey, you do your part, I do mine.” Jack gestures for Rhys to make a fist, and Rhys complies. Apparently satisfied by what he sees, Jack moves back to his chair and sits down again. There’s heat in his eyes when he looks at Rhys through lidded eyes. “And you did your part _really_ well.”

Nodding again, Rhys clutches his improved arm to his chest, still baffled by this turn of events, but undeniably pleased by the praise. 

Jack points at him with one finger. “By the way, you can drop the sir for now, kiddo.” A chuckle. “Keep it for special occasions.” 

That makes Rhys smile, even though his lips object to that by stinging harder.

“Oh, and you can go home.” Jack stretches his arms over his head, posture relaxed. “I took the liberty to inform Wallethead you won’t be returning to the office today.” He looks at Rhys gravely. “Told him I was afraid I might have broken you.”

Rhys reaches up to gently touch his metal fingers to his bruised throat. “Don’t worry, I can take a lot more,” he croaks, flashing Jack a wide grin. “ _Sir_.” His wrecked voice makes the words come out almost unrecognisable, and his throat is not amused at all, but Jack’s startled laugh is well worth the pain.

Jack steeples his fingers, rests his chin on them. In the process, he smears even more oil over his mask, but Rhys just doesn’t have it in him to point that out to Jack. “I’ll keep that in mind, Rhysie.”

He can sense Jack’s eyes on his back until the massive door closes behind him. 

Inhaling shakily, Rhys rests his aching body against it, pleasure and pain both buzzing in his veins.

He’s pretty sure that this is exactly how getting yourself into real trouble must feel like.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As soon as Rhys enters the office, Vasquez descends on him like an ominous, badly smelling cloud.
> 
> “He asked for _you._ ” Vasquez inhales loudly, like a Skag about to charge. “ _Specifically._ ”
> 
> Rhys is pretty sure they’ve been here before.
> 
> Rhys is also pretty sure that it just got really, really quiet around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays, everyone. may you and your dear ones be safe and sound.
> 
> somehow, this ended up being Porn _With_ Plot. enjoy?

As soon as Rhys enters the office, Vasquez descends on him like an ominous, badly smelling cloud.

“He asked for _you._ ” Vasquez inhales loudly, like a Skag about to charge. “ _Specifically._ ”

Rhys is pretty sure they’ve been here before.

Rhys is also pretty sure that it just got really, really quiet around them. 

Thankfully, he expected this, and so he manages to remain relaxed in the face of Vasquez’s aggressive posturing. Vasquez’s creepy fixation on Handsome Jack, and his obsession with _being_ Handsome Jack are a popular topic even outside of their department. 

Meaning: Rhys is prepared. 

“Yeah.” He shrugs awkwardly, inwardly steeling himself for the words about to pass his lips. “I think you were right. I got the feeling he didn’t even know my name?” Jack definitely didn’t, at least not in the beginning. 

Maybe even right after that, if Rhys is being honest with himself, which he decides not to be in this moment. 

Anyway, half-truths are the key to any good lie.

Vasquez doesn’t look any less pissed off, but he also hasn’t jumped at Rhys’ throat yet so there’s that.

Nonchalantly, Rhys says, “He mentioned you a couple of times while he had me running laps.” He looks away from Vasquez, at some place above his shoulder instead. Half-truths are the key, Rhys cannot stress this enough. “Maybe he saw us together or something.” _When you just so happened to be walking in the exact same direction at the exact same time as me for the hundredth time, like an asshole-shaped shadow trailing after me._ This part, Rhys doesn’t say, even though the words are already burning a hole into his tongue.

It’s almost funny, the way Vasquez instantly relaxes, changes tracks. It would probably be even funnier if he didn’t also insist on leaning closer to Rhys. Again.

“Really? What did he—” Vasquez pauses, obviously wanting to press for details but also not wanting Rhys to feel like he’s got anything that Vasquez wants. Now it’s apparently Vasquez’s turn to shrug. “What was it like, having to run laps for him?”

“Oh, it was _hard_ ,” Rhys replies immediately, then bites his lip to keep from grinning.

Somewhere out there, Vaughn is probably staring in abject horror at air. He’s got a knack for sensing when Rhys is getting himself into trouble.

“I mean, it was really hard, having to run in circles for hours,” he amends quickly, because he doesn’t actually want Vaughn to find an early grave because of him. “Hard but fair.” He nods honestly. Rhys doesn’t want to sound as if he’s bad-mouthing Jack, after all.

Apparently appeased, Vasquez smiles - actually smiles - knowingly. “Of course. Jack is always kind to those who give their all for him.”

Rhys smacks his lips, remembering Jack’s cock stretching them so deliciously wide. He hums distractedly.

Then Rhys realises with dawning horror that he and Vasquez are actually _bonding_. Over _Jack_. And. No. 

Rhys excuses himself before this attempt at laying low can spin even further out of control. “Nice talk.” Urgh, he needs to go wash his mouth ASAP. “I need to finish—” Shit, what was he working on again? _Say something, say Something!_ “That thing.” Rhys turns away quickly, hopefully hiding his wince.

“He let me lick his boots once, after I closed a particularly difficult deal,” Vasquez says behind him, sounding dreamy and far, far away. “Best damn day of my life.”

Shuddering violently, Rhys picks up his pace before he has to hear any more, glad that Vasquez is too absorbed in his thoughts to notice the swift escape.

* * *

This time, Jack lets Rhys wait for only a bit more than a week before he calls for him again, and in the weeks after that, Rhys becomes very well acquainted with Jack’s desk. And his chair. And on one extremely uncomfortable but still memorable occasion, the stairs.

At some point in between, the constantly tense line of Rhys’ back finally relaxes. Vaughn doesn’t fanatically use the treadmill like he’s on the run from something anymore, and Yvette becomes a lot more open and carefree again, frequently jokes around with them instead of simply observing.

Life is good, almost exactly like it was before Vasquez’s rise to power, with the added bonus of frequent and fantastic sex with Handsome Jack.

Rhys isn’t really sure what exactly Jack told Vasquez, about why he constantly sends for Rhys, but Vasquez doesn’t ask questions anymore, just keeps staring at Rhys with murder in his eyes.

Vasquez knows that's the only thing he can do to Rhys now, and it makes every day just all the sweeter. 

Rhys has worked on Helios for long enough, though. 

He really should have known better than to let his guard down.

* * *

Rhys is just about to shut off his computer when Vasquez throws a heavy folder onto his desk, a badly hidden grin tugging at his lips. “I know this is short notice, but Jack asked for you to look this over. Needs it done by tomorrow.” He doesn’t even try to sound apologetic. “It slipped my mind until now, you know how it is.”

Vasquez turns away, leaving the office with almost everybody else, and Rhys to stare dumbly at his back.

Wow. Vasquez must be really jealous of all the attention Rhys is getting from Jack to resort to something this childish.

Rhys makes a face, goosebumps crawling over his skin. He honestly doesn't want to know what Vasquez thinks it is they’re doing behind closed doors— probably something not even in the same galaxy as the truth, and really, really creepy. Rhys makes a face. Boot-licking, seriously? He’d never do that, not even if Jack asked nicely.

Probably. Rhys is almost 50% sure.

With a heavy sigh, he reaches for the folder and flips it open, raises an eyebrow when he spots the two photographs on the first page.

‘Torgue and Jacob, and How You Can Recognise their Future Ruin in their Receding Hairlines.’

Groaning, Rhys lets his head thud onto the desk. He’s definitely not getting paid enough for this bullshit.

Rhys lasts half an hour until he caves and sends Jack a carefully formed and often times rewritten question via his palm-comp.

>Do you really need this Torgue-Jacob thing tomorrow? Sorry, kinda got it on short-notice.

There. That doesn’t sound _too_ whiny. For a second he considers also making sure that this task was really meant for him, but then he shakes his head at himself. 

Even Vasquez wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to pull one over Rhys like this, not when he knows for certain that Jack speaks with him regularly. 

Rhys grins, playfully worries at his bottom lip.

Okay, sure, there’s not all that much actual talking done when Jack and Rhys are together, but Vasquez certainly can’t be aware of that or everybody would already be talking about it.

Ideally, Jack doesn’t need this slander-masquerading-as-a-study quickly and wants for Rhys to come over for a quick and sweaty round of stress relieving instead, and Rhys wastes a couple of minutes playing out several pleasant scenarios in his head.

When it becomes clear that Jack isn’t going to reply any time soon - or at all, a huffy voice inside of his head comments - Rhys sends another message, this time to Vaughn.

>Gotta stay longer, bro. This just in: Vasquez is still an asshole.

After a moment of consideration, he adds an unhappy smiley face at the end of it. And an animated gun, just to show how miserable he feels right now.

The reply comes almost immediately, because Vaughn is the best and actually cares about him, unlike some other people.

>be strong, bro. remember, this will be waiting for you

Rhys actually smiles when he sees the winking ice cream cone animation.

Yeah, no doubt about it. Vaughn’s the best.

He turns his palm-comp off again, and reluctantly reaches for the folder once more.

There are close-ups of heads. Lots of them. Torgue’s hair looks a bit greasy while Jakob’s just makes Rhys think of huge rats for some reason.

Bemoaning his awful fate, Rhys settles in for a long evening with two men he never wanted to get to know this intimately.

* * *

When Rhys is finally on his way back home, the artificial lights of Helios are already dimmed in this part of the station. Considering the state his hair must be in after hours spent tugging at it in frustration, he doesn’t actually mind anybody who might still be around not seeing the mess quite so clearly.

And if he ever has to see another picture of another person’s hair, let alone a close-up, he’s going to walk himself out of an airlock. 

Rhys shudders, entering the long hallway at the outer-rim of Helios, not really in the mood to appreciate the gorgeous, star-filled view right next to him today.

Loud laughter reaches him well before the clearly intoxicated group of five even comes into view.

 _Must be nice to be able to party in the middle of the week._ Rhys eyes them sullenly as they stagger closer.

Two guys and three women, all betas except for two of them if Rhys’ guess is correct. Which it usually is, when it comes to this, because while the civilised world is now mostly deserving of that title, it never hurts to be aware of the finer points of your surroundings.

The female omega is carrying a barely conscious beta boy on her back, which is a picture Rhys would really like to have in hand the next time somebody trash talks his endotype. 

The guy who lags behind a bit - an alpha, going by his stride - seems to be the most sober one. Or more correctly, the only sober one.

Probably the designated nanny for the night, Rhys muses. With all the cameras around, you always need to assume that every misstep can and will be used against you. 

Their eyes meet for a second and they nod at each other, silently acknowledging that they both clearly drew the short straw this evening. 

Morosely, Rhys looks down at his shiny skag-leather shoes. Only being able to watch while your friends or colleagues can drink their worries away, even if only for a little while, is probably just slightly more fun than staring at the receding hairlines of decrepit old men. 

“El,” one of the women hollers suddenly, “if you wanna tap that, you gotta actually open your mouth and _ask_!” The laughter rises in volume, joined by a sad attempt of a whistle.

Startled, Rhys glances at the alpha again, realises that the man is still looking at him. 

Checking him out, apparently, if the guilty blush on the alpha’s cheeks is any indicator, noticeable even in the dim light.

The alpha shrugs an apologetic shoulder, gestures warily at his friends ahead of him, but Rhys smiles understandingly, shakes his head. 

Rhys doesn’t really have a reason to complain. The others seem to have forgotten about him already, too busy bothering each other with a comfortable ease that seems very familiar to Rhys. 

Apart from Rhys and a few others in the far distance, they’re the only ones around, so the extra noises are actually kind of nice.

And Rhys is tired, but not tired enough as to not appreciate the attention. Slowing his steps, Rhys returns the favour.

The alpha is… terribly unassuming in every way. A good couple of years older than Rhys, with a dark buzz cut, a wide face suiting the softness of his body. He’s clothed in a washed-out Hyperion t-shirt, equally threadbare jeans and no-name shoes. 

At first, the simple silver watch on the man’s wrist seems to go with the rest of the outfit, but Rhys knows money when he sees it. 

He doesn’t bother activating his ECHO eye to confirm, because he has no doubt that the cleverly designed watch-comp is just as expensive as Vaughn’s glasses were, if not more so. 

Still, not exactly a rare catch by Helios standards, sky palace of the talented, ambitious and ruthless, and it’s late enough that Rhys can allow himself to admit that under different circumstances, he wouldn’t have looked twice at this man.

But now that he did, Rhys can’t help but notice the alpha’s kind brown eyes, and the smile that brings deep laughs lines with it, becoming even more prominent when the man notices that Rhys is looking back.

If the alpha’s friends didn’t reek like a bar, Rhys is pretty sure he wouldn’t mind the man’s scent, either.

The alpha straightens himself and swallows thickly as if he’s about to say something—

Rhys sees the moment for what it is and lets it pass by without regret. 

He waves at the alpha, smile turning sheepish when he begins walking faster again, more than ready to finally get home.

He doesn’t look back. 

For as long as Handsome Jack will have him, Rhys is his.

As the laughter and shouting of the group slowly draws away from him, Rhys realises with a jolt that he’s been walking practically _blind_ all this time, in a nearly deserted part of Helios. 

His ECHO eye is quick to react to his panicked thought, and his palm-comp follows suit immediately, both illuminating the world in a familiar and comforting blue.

In the next moment, Rhys chuckles at himself and his paranoia. Nobody knows the exact nature of Jack’s and his… dealings with each other, but he’s probably been seen around the elevator leading to Handsome Jack's office often enough now that even the most dimwitted idiot would have to realise that the only one who can now decide that Rhys is expendable is the man himself. Even Vasquez got the memo. That’s gotta mean something.

Guess frantically watching your back and having one eye on an escape route at all times for months takes a bit longer to unlearn than only a couple of weeks. He bites his bottom lip, scowling at nothing in particular.

If Rhys had just known earlier that the nightmare would find an end soon.

And he thought he was being so cunning and proving foresight, too! Trading in a couple of favours here and there, after he stupidly attacked no other but Handsome Jack himself and realised that as it was now, his program wouldn’t be able to hack into turrets - much less anything else around - quickly enough to make a difference in a tight spot.

All the long nights spent familiarising himself with the new codes and functions, the mind-numbing headache that came with the updates and persisted for days, and would have probably been even worse without Jack’s tinkering.

All for nothing.

 _I could have gotten something way cooler with those favours_ , Rhys thinks sadly, and with a heavy heart. _Maybe gotten somebody to make the plumbing in Vasquez’s place fail for a week. Or finally gotten some of the ice cream that’s always sold out!_

Pursing his lips, Rhys accesses rhys-wins.exe.

It ends up saving his life after all.

Only a blink later his ECHO eye displays a large, red-blinking warning.

>Registering access of an air vent close by.

Somebody is opening the vent behind him. Rhys frowns. Not all that weird; sometimes, junk or other, more unpleasant things get stuck in the system, and this is usually the easiest way to get rid of it.

The warning flashes again, bigger this time.

>Registering failsafe override. Safety hatch deactivated. Serious health hazard imminent.

Rhys can’t think over the blood suddenly rushing in his ears.

There’s a click behind him, a warning light flashing orange. 

The door to his left is locked, the purple sign next to it declaring whatever is past it to be way above Rhys’ clearance.

He dives towards it anyway, away from the suddenly flimsy looking glass separating him and the endless black lurking outside, now a lot closer than it was only moments ago, reaching for him. His fingers fly over his palm-comp, focus aimed entirely on the small, harmless panel standing between him and the other side of that door.

His new codes cut through the security system like a butcher knife, no finesse to it, and if Rhys had the capacity to feel anything beyond bone-deep, all-consuming terror right now, he would be vaguely concerned about how easy this is just by having the correct algorithms at hand.

Mere seconds have passed; Rhys doesn't have the time to utter a curse, much less to yell a warning.

A drawn-out, awful grating sound follows him as he dives forward and through the barely open door, almost as if Helios itself is unwilling to obey the conflicting orders, to be used like this. Rhys commands the door to _shutshutshut_ before he’s even completely through; he knocks his left knee hard against it, and he’s pretty sure he short-circuits the panel with his crude handling. 

Rhys doesn’t care.

The door slams shut so closely to his ear that he flinches violently, eyes screwed shut. His legs slowly give out under him, and he falls heavily against the metal, leaning against it with all of his weight, just to make sure that it _stays_ shut.

Rhys slides down against the closed door, heart beating quickly enough to make him dizzy, blood rushing in his ears.

It’s not loud enough to mask the terrible whooshing noise, to spare him of the desperate screams that cut off almost immediately with a sense of chilling finality.

He draws his shaking legs up to his chest, presses his face against them.

Something touches his shoulder and Rhys freezes, a sound vibrating in his ears that he almost can’t recognise as having been torn out of his own throat. 

His hindbrain kicks in, allowing him to notice the too-clean smell of a lab and the vaguely comforting scent of a concerned beta close by, and Rhys’ tense muscles loosen slightly.

“You’re okay,” she tells him quietly, soothingly, carefully holding onto him. “You’re safe here.”

Rhys concentrates on breathing, in and out, in and out.

He’s not okay, and evidently not safe at all.

But his heart is still beating and for now he guesses that will have to be enough.

* * *

The room that saved Rhys’ life turns out to be a large lab, placed away from the R&D sector so that an explosion won’t destroy all of Hyperion’s market value at once. Even if he was of a mind to, Rhys doesn’t have the time to touch any of the shiny shields on display around him. 

It’s doesn't take long for the suits from _Assessment & Rectification_ to arrive, and they hone in on him immediately.

Two of them tower in front of him, wearing yellow and black uniforms, weirdly enough tinted blue. Masks cover the upper half of their faces, black visors allowing them to see but not to be seen.

For security reasons, if Rhys remembers correctly, but the thought vanishes again before he can consider it further. His palm feels sweaty and icky, and Rhys wipes it quickly off on his trousers instead of looking too closely at the reason for that.

The female beta remains next to him, grounding him with her touch while subtly angling her body protectively between Rhys and the inhuman strangers. 

It should be ridiculous, probably looks the part, because she’s only half his size and old enough to be his grandma, but Rhys will never be able to thank her enough for this.

“How many people were with you?” The one on the left asks him, voice distorted and an ECHO recorder held ready in one hand.

A large part of the hallway is actually a one-way window from this side, and from where they're standing, Rhys’ has an almost perfect view of the three uniformed figures grouped around the now closed vent, fiddling with it. He tries to take an instinctive step back and away, deeper into the lab, but the beta doesn't let him, draws a slow circle on his left arm in apology when he makes a small noise.

Inhaling deeply, Rhys answers without letting himself think about it, gaze resting safely on a blue shield hovering in a testing cube. “I was alone.” 

He doesn’t want to consider—

If Vaughn and Yvette had been with him—

He wouldn’t have been quick enough to save all three of them, maybe not even two—

Rhys swallows, distantly wondering if he’s going to be sick.

A pause. 

“Let me rephrase that. How many people did you see in the corridor?”

“Five,” he croaks, mind reeling, “I think?” The unassuming alpha with the kind eyes, his friends— He frowns. 

There were others, on the other end of the hallway, but maybe they managed to get out before— “Seven? Eight? I don’t know, I’m sorry.” Rhys bites his lip, leaning even more against the beta at his side when her arm moves to his back. 

The one on the right nods. “How did you manage to get in here? Access to this laboratory should have been prohibited, isn’t that correct, Doctor Mino?”

The beta - Doctor Mino, apparently - snorts, widens the circle she’s drawing on Rhys’ back.

Rhys blinks, realising only then that his ECHO is still active. Well, that would explain the headache thudding away at his temples. And the blue hue on everything.

He waves his palm-comp - deactivated, must have already run out of battery at some point, stupid old thing - at his ECHO eye before deactivating it.

The posture of the suits changes instantly and Rhys is pretty sure he just made a terrible mistake. 

“Nice toys.” The one on the right makes a grab for his right arm, but Rhys snatches it away immediately, holding it protectively to his chest while hunching into himself. 

Both suits slowly reach for the pistols strapped to their sides; Rhys whines low in his throat, not entirely without calculated thought behind it.

Doctor Mino takes a step in front of him. “That won’t be necessary,” she says, with the authority of an alpha, of somebody who is used to being obeyed. “While we were waiting for your arrival - which was 3 minutes later than is predetermined by your statutes, I would like to point out - I took the liberty to analyse his palm-comp for recent activities.”

She pushes an ECHO to the chest of the suit on the right until they’re forced to take a step back, to let go of the gun to grab it.

“You’ll find nothing incriminating on there, except a hacking program that is commendably up to date and in full accordance with Hyperion regulations.” 

Which is a complete and utter lie. _Great._ Rhys is so fucked and not in a fun way.

The Doctor glances at him over her shoulder, winks.

Oh. So that’s why his palm-comp was mysteriously powered off. Rhys inhales deeply, his heartbeat slowing again. He really owes her big time; which doesn’t mean that he won't check intensively if his programs have been tampered with once he’s made it out of his mess. 

_If_ he makes it out of this mess.

The suits hesitate, and Doctor Mino crosses her arms in front of her chest. “If you have any concerns about my statement, I would like to hear them now.”

The one on the left clears their throat. “No, we’re done. Thank you for your help and cooperation, Doctor.”

They turn away, without asking if Rhys would like to add anything, without even paying him any more attention, and for once Rhys doesn’t mind that at all.

“Thanks,” Rhys whispers once the suits have moved away to join the others at the vent. He straightens himself again.

Mino chuckles. “You remind me of my wife.” The doctor shakes him roughly suddenly, and there is a lot of strength in her arms for somebody of her size. “Tall like a rakk hive and flailing about like a fish in the Pandoran desert!”

Rhys manages to swallow his justified protest against that unfavourable comparison. “I— I owe you,” he acknowledges quietly, already dreading the day she comes to collect.

Some debts can only be repaid in blood, especially on Helios.

She considers him with dark, sharp eyes, tapping a finger against her chin.

He tries very hard not to twitch.

After a long moment she shakes her head, huffs. “The shield simulation we were running failed at the last second. This way we will have another day to figure out what went wrong without having Handsome Jack breathing fire and lead down our necks.”

The simple mention of Jack’s name is enough to cause a couple of groans from the other scientists, some more fearful than others.

Grinning, she tugs at Rhys’ vest until he’s bending down towards her. “Consider us even.”

He nods eagerly, and her grin freezes for a flash. “But if you tell anybody about this, you’ll be involved in another unfortunate accident very soon.”

Rhys looks at her with wide eyes, smiling pleasantly. “Tell what? You helped me with getting the suits off my back and then kicked me out for being a distracting nuisance.”

Mino laughs, slaps him on the back. “That I did.”

He can’t smile just yet, instead shakes her hand tightly to show his gratitude.

He runs the entire way back home, taking a couple of detours to avoid all the places that allow even a glimpse of space. 

Which turn out to be a lot, moonbase and all that. He never really paid attention before.

His lungs protest sharply and insistently, but at least they’re still working. 

At this point, Rhys will take even the smallest victory.

* * *

When Rhys finally arrives, he has no concept of time anymore.

He didn’t allow himself a single clear thought on the entire way, but he sort of expected for Vaughn to take the— He swallows thickly, skin itching. The incident the worst.

He was wrong.

Yvette engulfs him in her arms as soon as he’s inside the apartment, Vaughn hovering at his shoulder.

Two pairs of hands wander over his body, as if to make sure that he’s still in one piece, and Rhys fights for his mind to stay carefully, carefully blank. _Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think…_

“Are you—” Yvette begins, only for Vaughn to interrupt with, “We heard there was an atmosphere leak in the southern part of the working district!”

Yvette inspects him critically, the effect only slightly diminished by her pink pyjamas. “You weren’t there, were you?”

“You were held up at work, and had to take the long route because your usual one was closed off. That’s it, right?” Vaughn adds hopefully.

Rhys bites his lip. Great. He was so busy with not thinking that he forgot to let his friends know that he was okay.

Because he is okay. Nothing happened, nothing unusual anyway.

What’s a bit of attempted murder between rivals, right?

He breathes in and out, in and out. 

His legs are shaking again.

Rhys doesn’t even realise they’re giving out on him until his ass suddenly hits the floor.

His friends follow him down, inhaling sharply.

Yvette presses his head against the side of hers, breathing erratic as if she had just run a marathon and not Rhys, and only when Vaughn presses himself against his back, warm and solid, does he notice that he’s covered in sweat and freezing.

“Six confirmed, Rhys. He killed at least six people to try to get to you,” Vaughn says haltingly before Yvette can shush him by swearing colourfully in four - no, five - different languages.

Vaughn kisses the back of his neck. “Are you hurt?”

Rhys considers this question without looking at the bigger picture, refusing to. Yvette is kneeling over his stretched out legs, and his left one twitches, knee aching hotly. “My knee hurts,” he declares sadly, shaking it carefully.

A warm huff against the sensitive skin of his throat. “Okay, bro, glad we talked about that.” He ruffles Rhys hair. “How about a warm bath?”

Rhys makes a considerate noise, hesitantly meeting Yvette’s eyes, unmoving and dark. “Sounds nice?”

Yvette gets up abruptly, crosses her arms in front of her chest while she’s staring down at them. “Pack some necessities. You’ll both stay with me for a couple of days until the fallout has settled and we know where we stand.” 

Rhys tilts his head.

Yvette is usually always so careful with how she speaks to others, always mindful to make everything sound like a helpful suggestion.

Somehow, she forgets to make this one anything but an order.

Rhys can feel Vaughn tense behind himself minimally, only for a couple of beats until he lets it out as a long breath against Rhys’ skin. “Gotcha. Your complex has better security than ours.”

She blinks, then nods too quickly. “Exactly.”

They all pretend that this was her leading motive, like good friends do.

Yvette kneels down again, point successfully made, and gently touches Rhys’ hip. “How did you get away?” she asks softly.

Rhys waggles his right hand at her, blinking his ECHO eye on and off twice.

“And the suits, did they give you any problems?” Vaughn asks, voice muffled against Rhys’ hair.

“They tried to, but one of the scientists I stumbled into helped me.”

Yvette’s eyebrows draw together immediately.

“No favours owed,” Rhys assures her hastily, before the lines on her forehead can get any deeper.

She smiles, and it almost looks natural. “Good work, Rhys.” Her palm is a heavy weight on his ankle.

Vaughn claps a hand onto his shoulder. “Man, can you imagine Vasquez’s face right now? He’s gotta be so pissed that he failed!”

Rhys leans back, resting his head against Vaughn’s chest. He hums, calmed by their scents and presence. “And you two thought the arm and eye wouldn’t be worth it.”

The familiar, tired argument makes Yvette groan loudly, and Vaughn bites Rhys’ shoulder reproachfully. 

They are terrible losers, that’s what they are. Rhys nods to himself, clutching his metal arm tightly to his chest.

At least he's doesn’t have to go to work tomorrow.

Rhys never thought he’d have to make use of it before, but he can’t pretend not to be immensely grateful for the additional vacation day granted for _unforeseen occurrences_.

* * *

In the end, it’s just another day on Helios. A bit of backstabbing and political maneuvering here, a bit of outright murder there.

Rhys doesn’t sleep well that night, not even with his friends wrapped almost too tightly around him, but he’ll deal.

Survive and adapt, that’s what he does.

Give him a couple of days and Rhys will even be able the walk the outer rim of Helios again without feeling cold sweat break out on his back at the mere prospect of it.

So, yeah. It’s nothing new. Nothing to freak out over, certainly. Vasquez just took their rivalry to the logical next level, that’s all.

This, though? This is new.

All the screens in the _Hub_ are displaying the regular _Hyperion & You_ announcement title.

And while there are announcements almost every day, featuring the hottest new Hyperion products, bonus incentives and amusing updates on their rival companies—

They are usually all recordings.

So the large, flashing addition of _live_ hasn’t only rooted Vaughn, Yvette and Rhys to the spot.

For a moment, Rhys even forgets to be mad at his so-called friends for dragging him away from the relative-safety of Yvette’s bedroom for an evening stroll.

“I wonder if it’s about what happened yesterday!” a man to their left proclaims excitedly. 

“How many bit the bullet again this time?” The woman next to him counts on her hands. “Six or eight? Man, the number keeps changing, it’s so difficult to keep track of it.”

They both laugh, and Rhys feels his friends step closer to him before he can do more than scowl at them.

And the answer is seven anyway. Even with nervously twitching fingers, skimming the database of _Resource Management_ was surprisingly easy.

Almost as easy as pretending that he wouldn’t be having a similar conversation with Vaughn and Yvette if the situation were different.

Jack’s face suddenly fills the entire screen, and Rhys isn’t the only one who makes a startled sound.

“Good evening, you working drones! There’s been an…” He wriggles with a hand. “ _Incident_ , and our dear people from _Resource Management_ thought it prudent of me to give you all another refresher on The Rules.”

Rhys can help but smile. If that isn’t Jack-speak for ‘they kept annoying me until I agreed to do this’ then Rhys will eat one of his favourite socks.

Jack leans closer, voice lowering to an almost intimate whisper. “Just between you and me, _wow_ , what an annoying bunch of bureaucrats.”

There are a couple of giggles and knowing snickers, and Rhys ignores the glances of his friends with practised ease when he joins the others.

Leaning back once more, Jack grins, easy and familiar. “If there’s somebody you think needs to go, either because you are sure Hyperion, in other words, _me_ , will profit from it or because they were being a big meanie to you once, you can do that, no problemo.”

There’s some laughter, but suddenly Rhys doesn't feel it anymore. He swallows dryly, just as Yvette gently tucks him down, her mouth against his ear.

“Did he contact you?”

Rhys shakes his head in answer, eyes glued to Jack’s face.

Jack read his message from yesterday night, that much he knows. But Jack didn’t reply, and now Rhys knows why: He was too busy dealing with the mess Rhys inadvertently caused, and Rhys really should have known that instead of feeling sorry for himself like a child.

“ _But_.” Jack’s entire demeanor changes, and Rhys jolts, so attuned to Jack’s moods. “If you can’t do it with official approval or style then at least do it _without massive collateral damage, you fuckwits_.” He’s hissing by the end of it, and it falls over the packed _Hub_ like a smothering blanket.

There’s a couple of forced laughs, a lot of nervous twitching and murmuring.

“So it’s true,” somebody behind them whispers. “I heard a couple of the unlucky people were from Robotics.”

A whistle. “Shit, seriously? No wonder he’s in a mood.”

Rhys blinks. He hadn’t known that, too afraid to call attention to himself again by digging too deeply into the database.

Jack's sighs loudly, shaking his head, and the _Hub_ immediately falls silent again. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way.” He grins widely, eyes blazing. “Let’s get to the fun part of this little refresher, shall we?”

The feed changes, showing them a wide glass pane now, a bare room behind it.

They’re still in Jack’s office, Rhys is sure of that, but he never paid attention to that part of it before, can’t remember seeing anything but a comfortable looking seating area there.

It’s impossible not to pay attention now, though. Not with the four men and one woman desperately hammering against the glass from the other side, some of them dressed in nothing but sleepwear and panic clearly visible in their features when the camera zooms in on them.

“Say ‘hello’ to the idiots who were smart enough to sabotage _my_ station but not smart enough to cover up their tracks properly,” Jack’s voice explains almost disinterestedly, and Rhys wonders if he can hear the screaming of the people he has trapped or if the glass is completely soundproof. “Now, these are probably not all who were involved in that embarrassing failure of a Termination.” His voice is sharp enough to cut through steel. “But for the moment these will do well enough for a little demonstration.”

“These two,” Jack says then, and the shortened resumes of two men pop up on either side of the screen, with picture and all. “Were supposed to watch the security feeds in hallway four section B instead of blowing bubbles up their asses.”

Vaughn inhales sharply, fingers of one hand fisted into Rhys’ belt. “He isn’t going to—”

“Yeah.” Yvette blows a loud breath out of her nose. “A public execution.”

The crying and hammering people still fill up most of the screen, and Rhys tilts his head to the side, feeling weirdly disconnected as he compares the faces on the pictures to the ones of the figures mutedly screaming at Jack and them, the viewers, the spectators.

Weird. He never realised just how much terror could change a person's features so completely. 

“This little guy here thought nobody would notice him messing with the recordings afterwards.” Jack clicks his tongue. “Please. I’ve been doing this for longer than you’ve been _alive_.” He chuckles darkly, and the sound sends shivers down Rhys’ back as if he was with Jack right now, there in the office with him. 

“And last but not least, these two used the time they really should have spent on those faulty Loader Bot codes on hacking into the vent systems instead. A really dumb decision, if you ask me.”

Jack hums, voice lowering into a playfully whisper. “But it’s fine. I’ll make sure it’ll be their last one.”

The view changes back to Jack once more, looking almost wistful, his head resting on one hand. “I had something real nice planned here, you know. I wanted to make an example, make it big and flashy, but noooooo.” He rolls his eyes, the hint of a pout on his lips. “Apparently an improvised battle arena is _too much_.” Jack makes finger quotes around the last two words.

“Ah, well.” He winks at them. “We’ll make do.”

Rhys almost startles when the screen switches back to the people who are apparently to blame for— for yesterday, and Rhys gladly concentrates on Jack’s voice instead of further pursuing that train of thought.

“Please give a warm welcome for Volti, our surprise guest!”

A hatch opens behind the panicked people without them noticing, hidden until now.

Vaughn curses quietly, and Rhys can’t help but agree.

A skag hesitantly creeps into the sealed off room, blue streaks illuminating parts of its thick-looking skin.

“See, his name’s Volti because he looks re _volt_ ing and is a shock skag which means it’s twice the puns for the price of one!” Jack laughs, positively delighted.

One of the men notices the horror lurking behind them. He turns around abruptly, pressing his back against the glass he’d been hitting only seconds before.

He must let out a truly impressive shout in warning, Rhys thinks distantly, because the others turn around almost in unison before diving to the sides like panicked animals. 

“I wanted to give you sound,” Jack says, somewhat sadly, just as the skag leaps at the closest moving body, and Rhys closes his eyes hastily, focusing on Jack’s words instead. 

Vaughn’s fingers are tucking uncomfortably at his belt by now, and Yvette’s hand is clutched around his metal wrist, tight enough that his ECHO eye informs him of the pressure being applied there.

He wonders if they’re still watching. He doesn’t ask.

“But I’ve been informed that there’s some stuff about human dignity in our stipulations and our people in _Legal_ put their foot down on this one.” Jack grumbles. “Can you believe that? They looked me in the eyes and told me _no_.”

The sound of somebody retching close by joins Jack’s voice, and Rhys is pretty sure there’s a lot of discreet vomiting into flowerpots going on around him right now.

It’s their own fault for not looking away.

“I mean, what am I paying them for, right? Believe me, I would have fired them all long ago if good _Legals_ weren’t so hard to find.” Jack sighs, and Rhys concentrates on that, and on his friends standing strong and quiet next to him.

“Sometimes I get the feeling Torgue snatches them up fresh out of kindergarden or something.” Jack hums thoughtfully. “You know, there might be an idea here…” He claps suddenly, and Rhys twitches. “Ah, got a bit distracted there, but I think they’re mostly still alive. And what better end for them than the one they deemed fitting for your dear colleagues? Say ‘hello’ to outer space and ‘goodbye' to breathable atmosphere, suckers!”

Even later Rhys will not be able to explain to himself what made him open his eyes at this moment. 

A vengeful desire to watch the death of the people who almost murdered him? 

Or simple, morbid curiosity about the fate that claimed Henderson and that he only barely evaded?

Either way, Rhys opens his eyes just in time to see the bloody bodies and the skag - still tearing into one of said bodies - get sucked out of the room.

It’s… a bit unspectacular, to be honest, over well before Rhys can even process what he just saw.

Jack growls, heavy and low, and Rhys blinks, by now intimately familiar with the sound.

If Jack isn’t touching himself right now, isn’t getting off at least a little to brutally killing these people, then Rhys will eat his second favourite sock. 

Rhys doesn’t try to examine how he feels about that.

The feed cuts away from the now empty room in dire need of cleaning, and Jack’s face fills the screen again. “Let’s have a minute of silence for good old Volti,” he says solemnly, grin unwavering and unsettling in a way Rhys can’t really explain. Definitely not fitting for any promotional material, that one.

It’s an unnecessary request. Rhys has never witnessed the _Hub_ to be so unnaturally, absolutely silent before, and he can’t imagine it’s any different in the other parts of Helios right now, be it the labs or offices or private apartments.

A mere couple of seconds pass.

Jack waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t feel sad for him. He was old and getting boring, and died doing what he loved most: killing people.”

He steeples his fingers, grin widening impossibly further. “And on another positive note: We’ve got a couple of new job openings! Make sure to check them out.” Jack aims a finger gun at them, winking, and then a cheerful tone declares the end of the announcement.

The screens return to their regular program, some images of stock prices. 

It doesn’t take long for the buzzing to start.

“See, I told you! The rumours are true and he totally does favour Robotics!”

“Guess you’re lucky in that case, ‘cause last I heard there are a couple positions free over there right now.”

“Elize, what the fuck! I’ll never let myself be seen with you in public again.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, I’m just making the best out of the situation. I just wonder which one of them was the target, you know?”

Yvette tugs him away from the laughter and cheerful speculation, quick and determined, and Rhys almost stumbles, mind still somewhere else. “And you’re sure he didn’t try to contact you?” she whispers urgently.

Vaughn falls in step next to them, an equally nervous air about him. “Yeah, maybe his message got lost in all the… the trouble yesterday?”

Rhys rolls his eyes. “Believe me, I would have noticed, I hit my knee not my brain. And no, he hasn’t, but why should he? It’s not like—” Rhys bites his lip, can’t actually say it. It’s not like they’re dating, not like this thing between them is anything serious.

His friends don’t seem any less insistent on getting him back to Yvette’s place immediately, and Rhys doesn’t get it until they’re almost back there. In his defence, they haven’t talked about the moment of mutual insanity that was The Plan in months.

And he can’t help it. He laughs, hard enough that he has to hold his stomach after he’s calmed down somewhat. “Oh, please. Guys. Seriously? That—” He waves a hand, indicating the Hub, the terrific refresher by Handsome Jack himself, everything that just happened. “That wasn’t for _me_. You heard it yourself. Vasquez got seriously unlucky and accidentally killed off a couple of Robotics. That’s all.”

Probably the alpha with the nice smile and his friends. Normal people who were just on their way back home, just like—

Rhys inhales deeply. He will not think about this now.

Yvette crosses her arms in front of her chest, drawing herself up until it feels like she’s towering above him even with their height difference. “Rhys, we have to at least consider—”

“No.” Rhys doesn’t raise his voice. He knows he doesn’t need to, not to be heard when he’s with his friends. “You’re being ridiculous.” Making sure to hold eye contact with her until she looks away, he points at Vaughn then, looking equally as tense as Yvette. “And you as well. He enjoys fucking me, and that’s all, end of story.” 

The mere _idea_ that Jack, Handsome Jack, would go to such lengths because of Rhys is ridiculous, bordering on delusional.

He stalks off ahead of them, not waiting for Yvette to enter the code to the door of her apartment.

Instead, he activates his ECHO eye and nudges the door open himself. He has the code, of course, so it’s not even like he’s doing any hacking, but...

Rhys doesn’t quite know what point exactly he’s trying to make with this, but he’s pretty sure he succeeded because his friends don’t speak another word of their harebrained ideas again.

* * *

Sleep doesn’t find him any easier that night, not even with his friends on either side of him.

It’s not even any concrete thoughts that are keeping him awake, and maybe that’s the problem. Maybe Rhys should feel guilty about the people who died because of him - twelve now, but Rhys isn’t keeping count, of course not, not at all - but he doesn’t.

He’s too relieved to still be alive to feel anything else. He’s tired though, and not in a physical way, deeper than that. His limbs feel heavy. His _brain_ feels heavy.

And still his head won’t stop whirring. 

_Later_ , Rhys tells himself, and Vaughn huffs in his sleep as if in agreement. Later he’ll deal with this.

Much, much later. Preferably never if Rhys can help it.

* * *

Going to work the next day is far less strange than he thought it would be. It probably helps that Rhys doesn’t let himself wonder about it until he’s already standing inside the office.

“Good to have you back in one piece,” Ezmir says, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up that Rhys mirrors automatically.

Several others congratulate him as well, clapping him on the shoulder, some even giving him spontaneous half-hugs that Rhys returns in a daze.

He’s not surprised that they know that he almost… almost didn’t make it, of course not. On the contrary: if none of them had managed to get their fingers on the details - one way or another - then he would have been seriously disappointed with his entire department. 

Rhys just didn’t think they would show quite as much care, and Rhys gets lost in the easy camaraderie - however superficial it may be - that used to be commonplace before Vasquez began to sink his poisonous teeth into Henderson.

The absence of the Vasquez-shaped cloud of doom is glaring.

But Rhys makes himself pay attention during the entire day, and even if he hadn't, he probably couldn’t have missed Vasquez’s penetrative smell lingering about, the dark-haired shadow seemingly always having to be somewhere else right when Rhys appears in the general vicinity.

It’s probably reckless, but Rhys makes sure to take the same elevator as Vasquez during the ride back down.

The man doesn’t look at him even once.

Vasquez could write an email to everyone in which he admits to having pulled the strings behind the catastrophic Termination and it would still be less obvious than this.

And maybe Rhys shouldn’t feel vicious satisfaction at Vasquez’s obvious discomfort right now, not with so many bodies waiting to be reclaimed, but he does.

It beats being scared out of his mind any day.

* * *

Vaughn is already asleep when Rhys’ ECHO eye activates to inform him of a new message with the obnoxiously blinking notation ‘urgent’.

>be in my office in 10 - HJ

His heart begins to pound wildly.

Carefully, Rhys pulls Vaughn’s arm away from his chest before sliding down the bed, grateful for once that he doesn't have to disentangle his legs from Yvette's as well.

At least one good thing to come out of her being called away because of an emergency night-shift not long ago.

Once in the living room, panic grabs him. How’s he supposed to make himself presentable and cover half of Helios in less than 10 minutes?

 _Are the rumours actually true and Jack never sleeps?_ He stares at the ugly Helios-shaped clock Rhys and Vaughn got for Yvette’s promotion a couple of years ago, rubbing the last bit of sleep from his eyes.

Then he realises that he’s doing nothing but wasting precious seconds.

He doesn’t have the time to slip into something nice, much less to style his hair back into order.

But he does take the time to take his metal arm from its cradle, attaching it quickly, because if he felt hesitant about walking Helios’ hallways without it before he’s even less thrilled by the very notion now.

Jack will just have to wait for a bit. Rhys likes being in one piece, and if Jack hadn’t wanted for Rhys to make frequent use of his mechanical arm then he shouldn’t have bothered tweaking it.

What Rhys doesn’t like is the way his hair makes him look without a generous amount of gel and attention - soft and approachable and worse. All the words Rhys doesn’t want to be ascribed to him except for when he can deliberately use it to his advantage. Annoyed, he pushes the loose strands away from his forehead while he slips into worn jeans, but his hair won’t have it, falling right back down into his eyes.

Perfect, just perfect.

At least he doesn’t have to worry about ruining his non-existent hairstyle while he puts on the old blue sweater he left at Yvette's ages ago, his movements jerky and frustrated.

On his way out the door, he types up a quick message to his friends, _Jack just remembered that I exist, be back later_ , and falls into an easy jog once it’s sent. Rhys is not bitter about the sudden radio silence right after… the incident, oh no. 

Slightly miffed, maybe, but not bitter.

There’s a prickling feeling in the back of his mind, and he’s sure he forgot something, something just as important as his right arm. But nothing springs to mind, and he arrives at his destination quicker than he thought he would.

Jack welcomes him with open arms, so to speak, restlessly tapping with one foot. “There you are, kid! I was beginning to think you were standing me up.”

Laughing breathlessly, Rhys unobtrusively checks in with his ECHO eye. 

Nineteen minutes. Honestly, that’s probably a new record. “Sorry, I was already in bed.” Like anybody sensible and without an imminent deadline would be.

Jack quirks an eyebrow, obviously taking in Rhys’ awfully dishevelled appearance while Rhys steps up to him. 

Too late to do anything about that now. Still, Rhys can’t help fidgeting self-consciously under the scrutiny. 

The air is heavy with Jack’s scent, as if the man hasn’t left the office in a while. With anybody else Rhys would find it distasteful, but because it’s Jack, Jack's scent, his brain has somehow convinced his nose that it smells even better than a newly acquired poster in mint condition.

When Jack inhales loudly through his nose and his amusement shifts, eyes slowly drawing together until they are mere slits, Rhys freezes.

Realisation and cold, cold dread constrict around his throat like a noose.

“In bed,” Jack repeats tonelessly, large hands settling on Rhys hips like vices. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” He sounds anything but. “Did I interrupt something?”

Rhys did not take a thorough shower like he usually does, did nothing to even attempt to mask the scents of Yvette and Vaughn clinging to his skin. 

Rhys is toast.

“No,” he says quickly, voice small. “My friends and me, we were only sleeping.” No sense in denying that he wasn't alone now.

Both of Jack’s eyebrows draw up. “Only sleeping. Together. In one bed.” He smiles sardonically, disbelief etched into every word. “With your friends, one of which just happens to be an alpha.” At this point, Jack’s almost towering over Rhys, palms too warm and flexing on Rhys’ hips.

Rhys draws himself up until their faces are only inches apart. Longingly, he wishes for the security and composure his usual outfit gives him. He’ll have to make do without that reassuring armor. “Yes. Sleeping together, sharing warmth. Also known as cuddling.” He bites his lip before the rest of that sentence can follow, _you might have heard of that novel concept before._ He’s already treading thin ice here as is.

Jack’s lips thin. “Cuddling for warmth. With your friends.” He says the words slowly, as if Rhys is trying to communicate with jumbled coding and Jack can’t make sense of it. But he’s now looking more thoughtful than murderous, and Rhys thinks he can see dry land in the distance.

He relaxes his posture slightly, tilts his head to the side. “Yeah. It helps dealing with the stress, especially—” Rhys bites his lip, closes his eyes for a second. _Especially after I almost died two days ago._

When he opens them again, Jack’s still staring at him, mouth open slightly.

Rhys’ eyelids lower on their own accord. “Am I not allowed to do that anymore?” he asks quietly, meekly.

Jack grinds his teeth, the sound loud in the small space between them. 

If Rhys stops breathing for a couple of beats, it’s only because he’s sure he can almost hear the gears in Jack’s head turning, turning. It was only a matter of time until this would come up, Rhys was well aware of that. But with the week he’s had, is it too much to ask for a small break here?

Because if Jack tries to forbid Rhys the necessary comfort of his friends’ embrace now, then Rhys doesn’t know what he’ll do. Except that it’ll probably be something stupid and make this end very badly for him.

“Only…” Jack makes a face, forces the word out between still clenched teeth. “Cuddling.”

Rhys nods earnestly, noting that Jack doesn’t specify how much Rhys has to wear during the cuddling.

“Not every day, only a couple of times the week,” Jack declares with a low growl, and Rhys casts his gaze down, bottom lip pursed.

He doesn’t want to make this too easy for Jack. After a carefully measured amount of time, he meets Jack’s eyes again. “Okay.” 

Fix or six times a week still qualifies as a couple, doesn't it?

A pleased smirk settles on Jack’s mouth, and the relief surging through Rhys is strong enough to almost make his knees buckle.

The tension between them snaps like a strained elastic, and Rhys tilts his head easily once more when Jack leans in and starts mouthing at his neck.

“And not before we meet, ever again.” Jack nips at the soft skin there, but he sounds distracted, a different kind of heat permeating his every word.

Rhys’ voice is nothing but a breathy whisper. “Yes.” On a whim, he adds, “Sir.”

Jack growls, extremely pleased, going by the considerable erection he’s leisurely rubbing against Rhys’ thigh.

It’s a good thing Jack is so distracted with Rhys’ neck, because Rhys is having some difficulties keeping a decidedly smug smile off his face. Give an alpha the impression that you’ll do anything, _anything_ , to please them and they turn into a tamed skag right before your eyes.

Rhys shudders, and not only because Jack’s hands are slowly wandering underneath his sweater, rucking it up and exposing him to cool air.

He probably shouldn't think about skags for a while. At least until the image of Volti and the doomed people in a glass box fade away.

Unbidden, his eyes wander to his right, but there’s nothing of note to see there now except for the lounging area. He toes his shoes off without thinking about it.

Jack clicks his tongue and Rhys raises his arms, allowing Jack to roughly draw the worn material over his head. 

Rhys hadn’t bothered putting on anything underneath, and Jack makes a low, appreciative sound in the back of his throat, presses himself completely against Rhys’ front, his fingers already busy with Rhys’ jeans.

He can’t seem to be bothered with the zipper, movements impatient and uncoordinated, and so Rhys sucks in his stomach, shimmies out of them. His shorts follow right after, dragging roughly over his filling cock and Rhys groans.

Jack’s hands are almost greedy on his bare skin, pressing fingertip-shaped bruises wherever they can reach, and with Jack’s scent surrounding him, Rhys brain has no difficulty switching from _caution_ to a much more pleasant setting. 

Distantly, he cannot help but wonder, though. _Does Jack know?_ About Rhys involvement in the catastrophic Termination? About Rhys almost dying?

But Jack doesn’t seem all that interested in talking anymore, doesn’t mention the incident and so neither does Rhys, glad to forget about it, to get lost in Jack’s attention.

Rhys lets himself be maneuvered backwards by skilled hands while Jack alternates between licking and sucking on his neck, his collarbone.

Slick slowly trails down the inside of his thighs, and he needs this now, never needed it more before, Jack’s thick cock inside of him, pushing any distracting thoughts away.

“That’s it, fuck, you’re so eager for it, lemme--” Jack turns him with a last bite at his throat, shoves him forward.

He reaches out instinctively, and his hands find purchase on the glass pane spanning the entire back of the platform behind Jack’s desk.

Rhys’ blood runs cold.

There’s nothing between him and black, endless space but a bit of glass, and it doesn’t look nearly thick enough to keep the deceptively pretty, star-filled death outside.

“Gonna make you feel so good, you’ll need nothing but me,” Jack hisses, fingers digging into the yielding flesh of Rhys’ ass.

Rhys latches onto Jack’s voice with vigour, and presses his eyes shut tightly. There’s a blank wall in front him, a simple blank wall, and Jack directly behind him, close, so close. 

There’s nothing to be afraid of.

“Tell me what you want.” Hot breath against his lower back, and Rhys whimpers. 

“I want…” Rhys swallows. He wants Jack’s touch, almost too rough sometimes, as if Jack doesn’t quite know how not to apply overly much of himself to everything he does; Jack’s attention, fickle and intoxicating; Jack’s cock, always a bit too thick during the first initial stretch and perfect for it.

He wants for Jack to want him as much as Rhys wants him, and that is dangerous, _stupid_ , and so Rhys erases that line of thought hastily. “I want you,” Rhys says faintly, shivering, wearing nothing but his socks, and anticipation thrumming through him like a live wire.

Jack drags his teeth over Rhys’ tailbone, voice contemplative. “Is that so?” His palms come to rest on Rhys’ ass cheeks, covering them nearly completely, one thumb resting just above Rhys’ hole.

Rhys stops breathing.

The thumb presses down, applying just a hint of pressure, and Rhys exhales loudly, spreads his legs. “Yes, Jack, please!”

Humming, Jack draws a lazy circle over Rhys entrance, closer and closer, torturously slow nearing to where Rhys needs it. “All of this just for me.” He pushes two fingers into Rhys, bites hard into Rhys’ left ass cheek, and Rhys starts, up onto his toes.

Jack begins fingering him open then, taking his time, and Rhys doesn’t know if it’s because of Jack’s weird mood, even more demanding than usual or if it’s because his eyes are closed, but he feels everything so intensively right now, almost excessively so. 

Warm breath is ghosting over Rhys’ hole, his sweaty skin, and Jack pushes his fingers in deeper, deeper still. Rhys’ own fingers twitch uselessly against the cool surface he’s now leaning most of his weight against, legs shaky.

“You won’t even remember your own name when I’m done with you.” A dark promise lovingly wrapped around a growl before it’s pressed into his skin.

Jack pulls his fingers out, and Rhys relaxes automatically, only to bite his tongue on a startled yell when Jack’s tongue suddenly drags over his wet hole.

His cock pulses, painting the surface in front of Rhys with pre-come.

“Your taste, so fitting, could get used to it, exactly like you,” Jack mutters, standing up, words lost in the continuous rumble trapped in his throat. 

Clothes rustling, a condom wrapper torn open, and then Jack pushes in, in one slow, deep thrust.

Behind his closed eyes, Rhys sees stars. 

Moaning, he spreads his legs even wider apart, presses his hips back against Jack, trying to get more, _more more more_. 

“So tight, princess.” Jack groans, pulling out only to fuck into Rhys again, harder; does it again, harder still, pressing Rhys against the warming flat surface with his weight. “Made for me, isn’t that right, Rhysie? Perfect, just like me.”

There was a question somewhere in there, Rhys thinks dazedly, and he nods his head eagerly, a chant of, _yes_ and _more_ spilling uncontrollably from his parted lips.

Jack laughs unevenly, fingers digging into Rhys hips, and Rhys tries to spread his legs even farther apart; fails, nearly strains something and doesn’t even notice. “See, that’s what you need.” He sneaks one hand around to Rhys’ front, wriggling it between the wall and Rhys’ burning skin. Jack wraps it loosely around Rhys’ throat, pressing it back until Rhys can feel Jack’s strong shoulder at the back of his head.

“Somebody to take you exactly like this, to make you bend and beg.” He licks a wet swipe over Rhys’ port, and Rhys whimpers, orgasm bubbling in his blood, low in his stomach. Jack’s fingers dig in even harder, movements rough, bordering on painful. “Say it,” he hisses, voice almost unrecognisable. “You need an alpha, you need me, the biggest and baddest of them all.”

“Yes, alpha, yes,” Rhys repeats mindlessly, only to whimper when Jack growls. The sound sets his nerves on edge, makes him tremble.

“ _No_.” He slaps Rhys’ ass, and Rhys is going to fall apart or go insane or both. “You need me, _me_.”

Rhys’ mouth is babbling without his input, and for once he couldn’t care less. “You, yes, please, you!”

Jack’s almost feverish thrusts slow instantly, his voice turning into something low and satisfied. “My name,” he all but purrs, “Say it, Rhys.” He angles his hips, pushing in so deeply Rhys knows he’ll be feeling it for days.

“Jack!” Rhys gasps, painting the wall in front of him with his come, cock untouched. Then softer, still helplessly shuddering through his orgasm, “ _Jack._ ”

Jack hums, a victorious undertone to it, now thrusting steadily, leisurely. He draws Rhys’ hips back until Rhys has to adjust his stance and lean forward or lose his precarious balance. “Look at the pretty picture we make.” One of his hands finds Rhys spent cock, engulfs it carefully. 

Rhys twitches and whines, too sensitive right now for even the barely-there touch.

“Open your eyes, Rhysie. Enjoy the view.”

And Rhys does so before he can remember why he had them closed the entire time in the first place.

He’s pretty sure the afterglow never faded this quickly before, because not even the dirty spots on the glass can distract him from black, all-consuming space lapping at his fingertips and staring right back at him.

Jack's hums once more, and Rhys manages to seek out the reflection of Jack’s face, desperate for comfort or a distraction, whatever he can get.

But Jack isn’t looking ahead any longer, instead intently staring at where he’s still slowly fucking in and out of Rhys, a pleased smirk on his lips.

Rhys is bent forward, chest and face flushed, and somehow Jack looks even bigger like this, clothes and hair mussed but still completely, undeniably in control.

The admittedly nice picture doesn’t hold Rhys’ attention for very long, and all too soon his gaze flickers back to the far too thin glass and to what lurks behind it.

Not even the delicious stretch of Jack’s cock does anything to calm his frazzled nerves.

Sudden movement at the edge of his vision, and it takes Rhys a long moment to realise what it is.

A body.

A corpse.

A man, frozen with his hands pressed against his face, as if he spent his last moments trying to hide from his inevitable fate.

Rhys stares, transfixed, and he must make a noise, because the thrusting stops.

Jack grunts. “He’s still around? I’m beginning to think I’m paying _Removal_ too much.” He continues fucking Rhys, slow and steady, as if he’s got all the time in the world, as if a body floating by his office is nothing unusual. 

Maybe it simply isn’t, and Rhys was just always too distracted to notice before.

“Asshole tried to steal money during his second week here, can you believe that? But not with me, baby, not with Handsome Jack, nope.” He leans down and presses his nose against the back of Rhys’ head, groans. “Fuck, you’re so hot and tight, kitten.”

Activating his ECHO eye is not a conscious order from him, but if Rhys isn’t allowed to close his eyes again then he needs this distraction, and he’s curious, a mental itch that has to be scratched immediately.

 **Name:** Chad Lori  
**Age:** 24  
**Occupation:** The empty void of the recently deceased.  
**Prior:** Accountant  
**Hobbies:** Puzzles, documenting the mating rituals of rakks.  
Sing it with me, kids: L-O-S-E-R.

Jack presses himself more firmly against Rhys’ back, voice muffled by Rhys’ hair. “Don’t even remember his name.” He chuckles. “I’ve spaced so many idiots this month already, I’ve lost count.” Sighing, he noses at Rhys’ hair, voice muffled. “I like it this way.”

Rhys almost giggles when Jack rubs his chin against him, like an overgrown cat. The hand around his cock tightens, and he moans, feeling himself gearing up for round two. “His name was Chad,” Rhys says haltingly, rubbing himself against Jack’s hand while Jack is slowly grinding his hips.

Jack makes a vaguely inquiring noise, still seemingly enamored with the unsightly mess that is Rhys’ hair. “Knew him?”

He shrugs, belatedly realises that Jack can’t see it. “No.” Vaughn might have seen him around, but if Chad was stupid enough to try siphoning money away so crudely before he familiarised himself with the ins and outs of Hyperion, then Vaughn would have kept his distance right away.

Vaughn’s got a nose for this sort of thing, it’s pretty awesome.

Rhys’ eyes focus on the bright green cotton pants Chad is wearing. He feels offended just looking at them. “He was really into the mating rituals of rakks,” he adds distractedly, because the information is already there, so why not share it? “Weird hobby, right?”

Jack stops moving.

Rhys’ eyes widen.

Jack pulls out of him, and then rough hands spin him around until he’s staring at Jack’s blank face.

Rhys doesn’t quite manage to turn his ECHO eye off quickly enough before Jack notices.

For a moment, Jack doesn’t seem to know what to say, various emotions flitting over his mask: disbelief, anger, bafflement.

When he settles on anger, Rhys can’t even say he’s surprised.

“Something you wanna say, Rhysie? Am I boring you?” He sounds deceptively calm, but there is nothing that could hide the rage boiling just underneath the words.

The fingers clutching at Rhys’ arms flex and tighten. 

For a wild second, he considers telling Jack the truth. _So, hey, fun story. Ever since I almost got sucked out into space a couple of days ago I’ve been feeling a bit wary of it. Crazy, right?_ But there is no way to explain this without appearing weak, and Rhys rebels against the very idea of it.

If Handsome Jack hasn’t kicked him out yet for being an omega, then Rhys is sure this would be the last straw.

Thankfully, Jack continues speaking without waiting for an answer, because Rhys hasn’t come up with anything that might get him out of this mess yet.

Jack takes a step away from Rhys, but not far, keeps holding onto him. “I’m giving you the fuck of a lifetime and instead of appreciating that like a good fucking omega, you’d rather scan some space trash, is that how it is?”

 _That_ certainly raises Rhys’ hackles, and also gives his brain a helpful nudge away from speechless horror and into a quickly shaping idea. 

Despite the sirens blaring inside of his head, he relaxes into Jack’s hold, rests his ass against the glass and lowers his eyelashes to half-mast. “I’m not sure.” His voice is a bit scratchy, and he licks his lips, gaze flickering down Jack’s body and then back up again. 

He suppresses a shiver, because Jack is a sight to behold: mismatched eyes blazing, teeth visible through a snarl, clothes rumpled.

His thick, dark cock is curving out of his zipper, as if it is straining towards Rhys. It looks very, very hard, almost painfully so.

With Rhys’ hole gaping and empty, it’s a bit difficult to actually formulate the words, but Rhys manages it somehow. “Maybe you aren’t trying _hard_ enough?” He tilts his head thoughtfully. 

Jack blinks, expression frozen.

Several seconds pass.

Rhys is pretty sure he miscalculated phenomenally this time.

Just when he’s about to close his eyes and accept his fate like Chad did, Jack huffs.

But the grin that claims Jack’s mouth is not quite reassuring, too sharp at the corners, dangerous like a well-kept knife.

“You little shit,” Jack says quietly, shaking his head as if in awe. He slides back into Rhys’ personal space as if he belongs there, hands settling heavily on Rhys’ hips. “I’ll show you _hard_.”

And Rhys doesn’t squeak when Jack suddenly lifts him, urging Rhys’ legs to cross behind Jack’s back, but it’s a close thing.

Their journey ends almost right away, when Jack’s knees buckle while he’s descending the stairs with Rhys’ added weight, but he simply exhales loudly through his nose and keeps walking on.

If he’d stop staring at Rhys the entire time, eyes dark and intent, then this would probably be a lot easier and less dangerous. 

Rhys doesn’t point that out, though, throat far too dry for words and trapped entirely in Jack’s attention. 

A rabbit wrapped up in the wolf’s embrace.

Jack dumps him unceremoniously on one of the couches, arranges him deftly and surely until Rhys is bent over the cool grey end of it, ass sticking up into the air and his hands stretched out in front of him.

“Ungrateful brat,” Jack hisses. Unceremoniously, he pushes his thumbs into Rhys’ hole and _stretches_ it.

A thready whine rushes out of Rhys’ throat

The end of the couch is pressed uncomfortably into his stomach, his cock hanging freely in the air just below. Rhys is still half-hard, because his cock does not know how to react to Jack’s presence any other way, it seems. He bites his lip when Jack’s cock joins his thumbs, stretching Rhys even further, and he fists his fingers into the couch.

Jack sets a punishing pace right away, and Rhys might just be imagining it, but he’s pretty sure the couch is moving with the force of his thrusts. “You want hard?” Jack asks breathlessly. “When I’m done with you, you’ll have to be carried out of my office!”

Rhys whimpers, and with the way Jack is pulling him back against every harsh trust, he believes him, too.

“Not trying hard enough,” Jack says derisively. “Last time somebody had the balls to say that to me, I made sure they lost those balls quickly and messily.” He puts one of his hands between Rhys’ shoulder blades, as if Rhys could possibly be thinking about getting away right now. “I think it’s about high time I remind you who the boss is.” 

It should be a threat, is probably meant to be one. But Rhys had enough time to familiarise himself with Jack’s tone of voice, with the nuance of it, and he’s pretty sure that Jack… that Jack is enjoying this as much as Rhys is.

Jack’s other hand settles on the underside of Rhys’ right thigh, and Rhys raises the leg eagerly, doesn't even have to be prompted. The new angle allows Jack’s cock to slide in even deeper, and Rhys moans, eyes tearing up helplessly in the face of the overwhelming pleasure unleashed upon him.

If this is Jack’s idea of punishment, then Rhys doesn’t see why he shouldn’t be running his mouth _all the time_.

When Jack doesn’t follow that up anything else, apparently having lost his train of thought and now focused completely on fucking Rhys through the couch, Rhys tilts his head to the side. “Well,” he croaks. He meets Jack’s eyes over his shoulder, grins. “Don’t leave me hanging here. Who _is_ the boss?”

One of these days, Jack is either going to strangle him with his bare hands or fuck him to death. Either way, Rhys will enjoy the ride, knowing there are far worse ways to go.

Jack’s rhythm falters, but only for a moment, not even long enough for it to register. “Mouth like yours is why gags were made, kiddo.” He rakes his nails down Rhys’ back, and even considering how sweaty they both are at this point, Rhys feels it well enough to arch against the burn, a breathless exhale following in its wake. Once the hand is done marking him up for Jack’s amusement, Jack reaches for Rhys’ mouth.

His aim is off, though, considering he hasn’t stopped slamming their hips together, and so his palm lands on Rhys’ cheek first.

Rhys leans into the touch greedily, isn’t even ashamed to admit it to himself.

Jack indulges him. He drags his rough palm slowly over Rhys’ heated skin before settling one of his long fingers on Rhys’ lips. “Gags and other fun things,” Jack adds distractedly, one corner of his mouth raised.

Maintaining eye contact, Rhys sucks the finger into his mouth, moans around it when Jack aims his next thrust just right.

Distantly, Rhys hears the sound of fabric tearing under his metal-fingertips, but he doesn’t have the mental capacity to care about something so trivial right now.

All too soon, Jack pulls his hand away again, fists it into Rhys’ hair instead. 

If it wasn’t already a mess to begin with, Rhys would probably voice some sort of protest. As it is, he merely leans into the pull, panting, keyed to every shift of Jack’s body.

Suddenly, the hand is gone and Jack’s rhythm slows until he’s barely fucking into Rhys any longer.

“Huh.” His voice is breathless, a note of confusion to it. “That hasn’t happened in a while.”

Rhys swallows dazedly. “Wha—”

And Jack pushes deeper into him in the next instant, and then Rhys isn’t thinking any longer.

There’s just something unmistakable about the beginnings of a growing knot teasing just so, about the promise of it inside, stretching, filling, binding—

It’s an electric pulse through Rhys’ body, the realisation of something he didn’t even know he was missing until this very moment. He wriggles back against Jack frantically, focused only on getting the alpha’s entire length into him. “ _Please_.”

Jack chuckles, still pushing only shallowly into him. “Guess that means I don’t have to ask for permission, huh, Rhysie?” His voice is so low and deep, Rhys would get lost in it if all of his attention wasn’t already caught up in a much more pressing matter.

Rhys nods his head viciously, then shakes it just as desperately, hips held still by Jack’s cruel hands. “Please, Jack, please.”

Jack stills entirely, and a sound drenched in despair falls from Rhys’ open mouth. “Fuck, I’m not wearing the right condom for this.” 

There’s a _I don’t care_ , hiding somewhere in Rhys’ low wail, not that either of them is aware of it.

Jack rubs slow circles on the dip of his back, shushing him. “Don’t move,” he says urgently, and then he’s gone.

As if Rhys could, even if he wanted to, not with the way his legs, his entire body, is shaking.

He strains his ears, teary eyes useless in focusing on the alpha, so far away at his desk. The sound of a drawer opening and of a busy hand rummaging through papers and clutter alike while Rhys lies trembling on the couch end, unable to comprehend anything but the need for Jack’s knot.

“It should be here somewhere,” Jack says, sounding like he’s talking to himself, “never threw it away.” He laughs. “Gave it to me as a joke, hah. If she could see us now!”

Rhys isn’t sure if Jack really is talking in chopped off sentences or if that’s merely all that manages to filter through the loud buzzing inside of his head.

But he _is_ sure that Jack still not being back inside of him is the opposite of acceptable in this moment.

Rhys raises himself up with a growl, manages to stay up after the third try, headless of the slick sliding down the inside of his legs.

“Just a sec, babe!” There’s something eager vibrating in every word, the only thing keeping Rhys from striding over there and dragging Jack back to where he belongs.

He blinks his eyes rapidly, barely able to make out Jack’s form, hands busy at his groin while he stumbles back to Rhys. He’s rolling on a larger condom over his cock, and the dark, beautiful knot at its base.

Another whine forces itself out of Rhys’ throat, and he trembles even stronger with the singular need for it.

Jack lets out a low hiss when the condom stretches over his knot, and he urges Rhys back down again as soon as he’s close enough to touch, seemingly just as frantic as Rhys feels.

The alpha’s breath is a warm murmur against his left ear. “You ready for it, Rhysie?” His hips snap forward, just deeply enough that Rhys feels the knot against his ass.

“Yes!” He gasps, sucking meager mouthfuls of air into his lungs. “God, please, _come on_.”

The alpha growls under his breath, presses even more marks into Rhys’ skin with his fingertips. “Jack will do.”

And he fucks into Rhys in the next instant, hard and deep, restlessly until his knot pushes past Rhys’ rim, stretching him so wide and completely that Rhys will eagerly forgive him that cheesy line.

Rhys comes instantly, all over the side of the couch. He falls forward, a marionette with its strings cut.

Over Jack’s noises of appreciation while he ruts into and against Rhys, Rhys’ drawn-out moan is an almost negligible thing.

“Fuck, this feels amazing.” Jack licks over Rhys’ neck, bites into it, oh so lightly. “ _You_ feel amazing.” He laughs roughly, presses a kiss against the middle of Rhys’ shoulder blades. “I forgot how good this can be.”

Rhys mumbles something that should have been an ‘anytime’, but he’s well beyond speech at this point.

All too soon Jack stills with a low groan, nose pressed against the nape of Rhys’ neck. His knot swells and swells, and Rhys feels sated down to his core, content in a way that defies logical reasoning.

He doesn’t even mind all that much that the condom prevents Jack’s warmth from spreading inside of him.

A blissful eternity later, Jack groans again, this time obviously not in pleasure. “Right,” he drawls, “I managed to forgot about this part as well.”

Rhys makes a questioning sound, far too out of it for anything else. Behind him, Jack shifts slightly, and Rhys feels the pull just all too well. He turns around to face the alpha, a displeased grumble on his lips.

The way Jack is looking at his desk could almost be described as… longing.

Frowning, Rhys tries to get his brain cells into something resembling working order again.

Finally noticing Rhys’ stare, Jack’s eyes move back to him. He grins ruefully. “Guess that contract review will have to wait for a bit longer.” Despite his words, he shifts once more, drawing low sounds out of both of them.

Finally, Rhys realises what’s going on right now.

The alpha wants to go back to work.

He’s got Rhys sweaty and pliant underneath him. He’s got his cock and knot snug deep inside of Rhys, and Jack wants to go back to _work_.

Rhys has never felt so offended in his life. “Well, I’m sorry for keeping you.” His voice is nothing but a weak croak, and he resents it for that.

Jack pats his side absently. “Nah, don’t worry, Rhysie. It’s not your fault mother nature is a bit of a freak.”

 _I’m pretty sure mother nature isn't the freak here,_ Rhys thinks meanly, and then he’s suddenly not thinking at all anymore, because Jack draws him back against his front and then _up_.

For a painful, wonderful second Rhys thinks he’s going to faint. Then he clings to Jack’s arm in front of his chest, desperately trying to hold onto something while Jack shuffles them to the middle of the couch before dropping down onto it, Rhys wedged between him and the back of the couch.

“There’s worse places to be stuck in,” Jack says easily, as if he wasn’t just gleefully pissing all over the best afterglow Rhys ever had only seconds ago. His breath fans warm over Rhys’ temple. “Couple months ago, an outage had me stuck in accounting for half an hour. I almost ended up braining them all with a stapler." He chuckles quietly, shaking his head. “What a boring cluster of human cells.”

Rhys is about to protest in Vaughn’s honour, when the palm of Jack's hand comes down on his ass with a loud slap.

Yelping, Rhys glares at Jack’s smug face leaning over him, propped up with his other hand.

“You’ve got way greater ASSets for one.” Preening, Jack looks at him expectantly.

Rhys stares at him in disbelief. He cannot believe he let this man knot him. 

He’s ashamed of himself, honestly.

When Rhys refuses to react with anything but pursed lips, Jack sniffs. “Shut it, princess. I’m freakin’ _hilarious._ ”

He flops down behind Rhys, without waiting to hear Rhys’ scathing thoughts about that. Jack mumbles something into his neck, sounding miffed, and then he throws an arm around him, leaving it on Rhys’ chest and his suddenly very loudly beating heart.

Only moments later Jack goes slack against him, and Rhys blinks several times.

Apparently, Handsome Jack can fall asleep at the drop of a hat.

It takes Rhys a bit longer to give into the luring call of shut-eye, still too bewildered by the sudden turn of events. But before his brain can really get going and analyse everything to death, he slips away to the sound of Jack snoring into his ear.

* * *

He wakes in gentle stages, first becoming aware of how warm and comfortable he is. In its wake follows the delightful realisation that he’s aching all over. Rhys shifts sleepily, and shivers when he notices that Jack’s cock is still inside of him. The knot has shrunk already, must have a while ago.

And still Jack is holding him closely and a very different kind of warmth seeps into his bones.

Jack nuzzles at the back of his neck, sighing quietly, and with anybody else, Rhys would call the gesture… affectionate.

“Wasn’t for you.”

Rhys is definitely not awake enough to comprehend that non sequitur. He makes a confused noise, swallowing several times against the persistent dryness in his throat.

Jack hums, rustling them lightly when he raises himself up on an elbow. “The Torgue-Jakob stuff. It wasn’t meant for you.”

And just like that he’s suddenly wide awake. He turns in Jack’s embrace, stares up at him with wide eyes.

Mellow isn’t exactly a word Rhys thought he would ever use to describe Jack with before, but apparently this is the night of never ending surprises. 

Jack’s eyes are half-closed, his mouth an approachable, easy line.

He’s looking at Rhys, really looking at him, and Rhys’ breath falters.

The hand on his chest begins to draw lazy circles around Rhys’ left nipple. There’s nothing really sexual about the touch, merely something distracted, as if Jack isn’t even fully aware he’s doing it. “I didn’t see your text until I was already swarmed by concerned inquiries about the situation and annoying complaints about our security protocols.” He falls quiet, and Rhys remains silent, too afraid to disturb him. Jack reaches up and supports himself on the back of the couch. 

Jack’s cock slips out of him, and with a grimace Jack pulls off the condom, let’s it fall by the couch with a disgusting, wet sound.

Rhys rolls onto his back, grimaces as well. Wow, Jack wasn’t kidding about him needing to be carried out later. He’s _sore_.

Jack leans closer then, until there’s almost nothing left between them.

“I didn’t think he actually had the guts to pull off a stunt of this offensively stupid magnitude,” he says, voice calm and quiet and intimate. “And now I’ve got human rights activists riding my ass from Eden-5 to Eden-7 and back, but…” He grins sharply, and Rhys’ breath catches again. “Do you think good old Wallethead got the message?”

 _Vaughn and Yvette were right_ , Rhys thinks dazedly, still staring transfixed at Jack’s eyes, his mouth.

Vaughn and Yvette were right and he can never tell them, because the three of them would leave Helios quicker than he could say, _so, about The Plan_. 

Rhys’ pulse is beating far too rapidly in his ears, and he feels as if Helios is being flung off its axes, dizzy, even though he’s already lying down.

Jack knows. He knows Vasquez almost killed Rhys and orchestrated a horror-show to dissuade him from trying again.

“He’s covered his tracks well, I gotta admit. There isn’t even a crumpled note to hint at his involvement,” Jack says quietly, with a grudging sort of respect. He looks at Rhys expectantly.

Still waiting for an answer, and Rhys, for possibly the first time in his life, is struck entirely speechless, his brain surfing on a Nebula cloud far, far away.

Jack bites his lip thoughtfully. “I know he’s untouchable.” He chuckles. “I mean, I _wrote_ the damn rules protecting him from persecution.” Jack clicks his tongue. “But I’m Handsome Fucking Jack,” he declares, as if there was ever any doubt about that, words breathy against Rhys’ mouth, and so close, so close. “So, Rhysie. Is he still giving you trouble?”

If Rhys would lean up just an inch, their lips would touch. That thought seems far more important than the distant realisation that one word from him now would be a death-sentence for Vasquez.

Vasquez, who’s been hiding from him all day with his tail tucked between his legs, who’s been a thorn in his side for years, who killed Henderson—

He’s already shaking his head by the time the last point fully settles into his brain, and by then it is already too late.

Jack nods, obviously satisfied. “Good. I’d be heartbroken if I was losing my touch.”

It’s probably better this way, Rhys thinks distantly, eyes still on Jack’s mouth.

Even through the high that is buzzing in his blood, the sheer amount of power Jack just carelessly put into his fumbling fingertips is enough to make his stomach somersault.

Now that he has Jack’s protection, he does not want to consider the far-reaching consequences of it. The irony that this is exactly what his friends and Rhys were after in the beginning is not lost on him, but before he can examine this line of thought, it slips away from his grasp again.

To be fair, Rhys doesn’t try very hard to hold onto it.

Jack pokes him suddenly, right above his ECHO eye. “Next time you suspect bullshit, just call me, yeah?”

Rhys nods automatically, smiles. “‘kay.”

Grinning, Jack trails his finger down Rhys’ side, and Rhys squirms, trying hard to not giggle. He leans down suddenly, presses his dry lips against Rhys’.

The touch is gone again before Rhys can fully comprehend it.

Jack nods once more, leans up, and claps his hands together. “Okay, this was fun.”

 _Fun, yeah, that’s one word for it._ Rhys laughs breathlessly, feeling ridiculous and warm in a way that has nothing to do with anything but Jack so close, so focused on him.

He leans up as well, and eyes the tears in the couch, wriggling his metal fingers pointedly at Jack’s raised eyebrow. “Yeah, but at what cost?”

“Don’t worry, cupcake.” Jack stretches his arms over his head, hums when there’s a slight pop. “I’ll take it out of your next couple of paychecks, no biggie.”

Torn right out of the pleasant mood, Rhys’ head shots up. He stares at Jack, askance.

Snorting, Jack rolls his eyes. “What is it with you people and money? I swear, there’s not a funny bone in the lot of you.” He grins widely, winks at Rhys. “At least not right now, eh, Rhysie?”

When Rhys fails to laugh yet again, Jack slaps his side, huffing indignantly. “Up, you insufferable critic. Get a shower.” He stands, walks away in rumpled clothes and smelling of sweat and sex and Rhys. “Some of us can’t just call it a night.”

Rhys follows him without conscious thought.

Jack sits heavily down on his chair, groaning. “I’ve got to order a new couch, get rid of the old one.” He sends a mean grin Rhys’ way, and Rhys squirms. With a glance behind him, Jack mutters, “And make some calls to get rid of the other trash as well.”

There’s nothing to see through the glass but space, and Rhys quickly looks away again. It takes him a moment to realise that Jack is talking about Chad.

“Hey.” Jack snaps with his fingers and Rhys blinks at him. 

Distantly, he realises that he’s still naked and beginning to feel a bit chilly.

“Grab your things, grab a shower, grab some Zs,” Jack says slowly, pointing to his right.

Oh.

Jack wants to get rid of him.

Immediately, Rhys scolds himself. Of course he wants Rhys to leave. They’ve had their fun and now Rhys can finally go home and _sleep_.

He nods even though Jack’s attention is already fully on the papers on his desk.

Okay. First things first. Rhys bends down to grab his clothes and instantly regrets it when his ass twinges reproachfully. He decides right then and there that no force in the universe will make him leave his bed tomorrow.

While Rhys picks his clothes off from the floor around Jack’s desk, the man in question doesn’t even spare him a glance. Swallowing, Rhys hastily seeks shelter from Jack’s cold shoulder in the bathroom.

He carelessly drops his clothes as soon as he’s inside, peels off his socks before stepping into the shower, no less opulent than it was the last time.

When the warm spray hits him, he sighs and ducks his head underneath it until the only sound he hears is the water cascading over him. Only belatedly does he turn his right shoulder away from it. Nothing short of a careless jump into a salty ocean should actually be damaging to the mechanisms of his metal arm, but Rhys would rather not take the chance.

Unbidden, the memory of Chad’s frozen body flashes before his closed eyes, quickly followed by Henderson’s.

Rhys presses his left palm against the smooth tiles, exhales long and deeply.

He doesn’t want to, but he can’t help but feel pity for the guy who clearly underestimated the sharp teeth hiding behind Helio’s polished walls. If nobody has come to lay claim on his body yet, and slipped _Reclamation & Removal_ a few credits to get him back, then that means that nobody will.

And that there is nobody waiting for Chad to come back. Much less to mourn him.

Rhys shivers, and angrily ups the temperature of the water, wondering why he still feels so chilled, why the aches just seem to hurt more with every passing minute.

At least he doesn’t have to worry about catching another look at Henderson’s body ever again. Rhys was quiet about it, made sure he didn’t leave a trail to follow and judge behind. But he kept track on the inquiries send to _R & R_, about their deployments.

He needn’t have worried, at least not about this. The very next day after Vasquez’s move, Henderson’s family quietly sent a huge sum to Hyperion, requesting Henderson to be delivered back to them. Off the books, there was another, smaller sum sent to _R & R_ directly, ensuing that the body was picked up cleanly and still in one piece when they received it.

“ _Stop_.” He bites his lip hard, stares at the dark tiles with unfocused eyes. Rhys drags his hand roughly over his face, willing the ugly, useless thoughts away.

He got to feel Jack’s knot for fuck’s sake, and Jack held him after, far longer than he needed to! Jack _kissed him_. Not to mention the small detail of Jack exercising terrible retribution to ensure Rhys’ safety.

Instead, his brain seems intent on turning him into a sniffling mess in Jack’s shower.

The realisation brings a certain kind of clarity with it, but it vanishes almost instantly. There and gone again, just like the kiss.

Just like the sense of actually belonging to and with Jack.

Rhys grinds his teeth and blindly reaches for one of the colourful bottles lining the wall. It skillfully evades his grasp, though, and decides to be a dick instead and fall right onto his left toe.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” At least there’s nobody around to see him make an utter fool of himself. Rhys blinks the wetness from his eyes, stares accusingly at the bottle he dropped.

Something slides into place inside of his head, and his eyes widen.

It’s been _years_ since Rhys last had to suffer through a drop. He chuckles disbelievingly, shaking his head at himself. No wonder he didn’t recognise the signs sooner.

Rhys bites his bottom lip hard, willing himself to keep focused on one task at a time. 

He washes himself quickly, not even really smelling the bodywash he picked.

The towel he grabs is still sinfully soft, but Rhys doesn’t let himself be swayed off his chosen path, and dries himself up efficiently, begins to dress himself in a hurry as soon as he can.

Still, he has to grind his teeth, because every movement pulls at overstrained muscles and reminds him of Jack’s hands on him, his cock, his knot, his embrace.

If only Jack wouldn’t send him away now like the most bizarre twist of the walk of shame, then Rhys could—

“No,” he tells himself firmly, ignoring the way his voice cracks. 

He does not check his reflection in the mirror before making his leave, too afraid to wind up shivering in the shower again.

He quietly slides out of the bathroom, and takes purposeful steps towards the exit, never letting his eyes wander.

Rhys is sure Jack doesn’t even notice him leaving. And even if he does, even if he calls for Rhys, Rhys might be deaf to it right now.

Because there’s only one person who can help him now, and that person is not in Jack’s office.

While he waits for the elevator to take him down, a couple of semi-legal server inquiries via his palm-comp confirm that Yvette’s ID is still logged into her work computer. 

Rhys nods to himself, realising only then that is his hair is still wet, and that he’s still so _cold_.

He deftly takes the next turn, willing his hands not to shake.

New objective acquired and pathway adjusted accordingly.

Now he’ll only have to hold onto the calm facade until he’s there. Rhys concentrates on inhaling and exhaling, eyes stubbornly fixed ahead of him.

Something as insignificant as a simple drop will not get the better of him after he’s survived and thrived on Helios for years. Rhys won’t allow it, it’s as simple as that.

Even if Jack used him like a disposable knot-holder.

Growling, Rhys pinches his side hard with his metal fingers.

He keeps his mind carefully blank after that slip-up, and he thinks he’s actually doing okay.

Until the very first not mechanical person he comes across turns around, and gently tries to get his attention. “Hey, are you alright?” the guy asks softly, walking by his side without hindering his steps.

Rhys spares him a glance. Another omega, maybe the reason why he picked up on Rhys’ mood so easily. With some difficulty, he swallows the ugly words already eagerly rising up in his throat and gives the guy a crooked smile instead. “I will be soon.” Of that at least he has no doubt.

“Fucking alphas.” The guy nods knowingly, waves a hand at Rhys in parting, and turns around again, resuming his way.

Yeah. Rhys dries his sweaty palm on his jeans, huddling deeper into his sweater.

He does not have the patience for the other people who try to talk to him along the same lines - two betas and one alpha. They get nothing but a sneer and a condescending look that hopefully conveys the full force of, _what the fuck do you think?_ in reply.

If Rhys would open his mouth right now, he’s pretty sure he’d just start screaming and not be able to stop.

Once he takes his first step into Yvette’s department, he relaxes a bit. He’s familiar with the area and scents, but still he’s relieved when there are only a couple of people mingling around in the open office space. _At least Yvette wasn’t the only unlucky one called in_ , he thinks distractedly, striding past the desks as if he has every right to be there.

Nobody tries to stop him or to get his attention, because Yvette is a smart person working with other smart people.

Or maybe it is the simple fact that for most of these people Rhys belongs to Yvette or at least with her. Or maybe that’s one and the same to them.

Rhys inhales shakily when he reaches Yvette's small but comfortable office.

“Rhys!” Yvette turns to him the moment he steps inside and closes the door behind him, a concerned line between her eyes, and relief blossoms inside of his chest.

It’s a nice feeling to have somebody who’s so attuned to his presence, somebody who actually _cares_.

The reassuring words die on his tongue when her scent hits him, and he crosses the space between them in four long strides before sinking down on his knees and scooting forwards, a new objective on the forefront of his mind.

For her part, Yvette doesn’t say anything, just watches him until he’s successfully hidden himself underneath her desk.

He touches her bare ankle, and she easily parts her legs for him to slide between.

Only when his cheek is resting against her right leg does he meet her concerned gaze. “Hi.”

Yvette places one calming hand on the back of his neck, one corner of her mouth raised. “Hi, yourself”, she says, equally quietly.

There’s a pause then, and Rhys doesn’t even know where to _begin_. And so he turns slightly, presses his forehead against her calf and inhales deeply the clean, familiar scent of her. “Can I stay here for a while?” He hates how hesitant he sounds to his own ears.

“Of course, Rhys.” She smiles at him, begins to rub gentle circles on his neck.

He smiles as well, warming already. It doesn’t take long for him to feel more like himself again, but still he remains silent and simply watches Yvette work.

When she frowns at whatever is currently on her screen, he places a kiss on her skin.

Her eyes find his immediately, and she drags her nail lightly over the side of his throat.

Rhys licks his lips. “He… knotted me.”

There is no visible reaction on Yvette’s face, but her fingers still, and Rhys makes small noises of dissatisfaction until she resumes her petting. “With protection right?”

“What? Of course.” He bites his lip. “He kissed me.” That, for some reason, makes him blush. “And then he sent me away.” He’s not prepared for the sharp sting this admission causes to reverberate inside of his ribcage.

“I see.” She clicks with her tongue. “One of _those_ alphas, is he?”

Sniffing, Rhys nods against her leg.

She bends down, breathes a soft kiss against the top of Rhys’ hair. “His loss,” she says decidedly.

He nods seriously. She’s right, of course. Smart, and gorgeous, and fun, and suddenly Rhys wants nothing more than to please her. He looks at her through lowered lashes, hands slowly creeping up her calves. 

Her fingers tighten and he stops instantly. Before he can apologise and feel like an idiot she grins down at him ruefully. “While I take pride in keeping my office bug-free, I’d rather not risk his jealous wrath.”

Rhys makes a sullen sound, lips pursed while he longingly eyes the small gap where her skirt has ridden up just enough for him to guess at the colour of her panties.

She huffs, long-suffering. “Your pout isn’t going to sway me, but nice try.”

And then she sinks both of her hands into his hair and ruffles it enthusiastically.

He squeaks, knocks his elbow against the side of the desk hard enough to make him wince. “Yvette, stop!”

“No chance!” Yvette’s laughing, evading his attempts at grabbing her wrists with ease. “You never let me do this, I’ve got to seize the opportunity.”

Giggling, Rhys stops resisting and leaves her free reign over his still drying hair. “You sound like a motivational poster.” He can only hope he’ll still be able to put some sort of order to it come tomorrow.

Yvette hums, pushing his strands this way and that.

The door opens, and they both startle guiltily. 

“Yve, could you—” The red-haired woman blinks at them, obviously not quite sure of what she’s looking at right now. She recovers quickly, though, waves at him, an amused tilt to her bright lips. “Hello, Rhys.”

He waves back, slightly sheepish. “Hi, Erin.”

“Something I can do for you?” Yvvette is doing a very poor job at hiding her smile behind the palm of her hand. 

It’s like she’s not even trying.

Erin chuckles and shakes her head. “Nothing that can’t wait. And by the way.” She raises an eyebrow, and leans against the doorway, arms crossed in front of her chest. “Handsome Jack just let me know that finding the culprits of the vandalism of his promotion posters on _Promethea_ can wait another day.”

Yvette actually splutters. “Seriously?”

Shrugging, Erin makes a _what can you do?_ gesture. “Yeah, hell if I know what that was about.” She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, looking at them both in turn. “Bossman was in a really good mood. _Really_ good, I mean. It was actually a bit scary.”

Yvette snorts, fingers threading through Rhys’ hair. “The rich and famous. Unfathomable to simpletons like us.” 

Erin laughs, shaking with it in a distracting way. “How could we ever comprehend such greatness? Better we don’t even try.”

Her blouse is green and there are more buttons open than closed, and Rhys is maybe possibly having some trouble looking away from her breasts.

Yvette gently flicks his ear without even looking down at him. She’s openly grinning now.

“Anyway.” Erin waves at somebody down the hallway, then her attention is back on them. “I’m calling it a night, and so should you two.” She winks at them. “See you tomorrow, Yve. Until next time, Rhys.” 

Despite her words, she pulls the door closed behind her again.

Rhys exhales slowly and leans his head back against Yvette’s thigh. He says quietly, “I’m glad you didn’t have to get rid of her.”

Yvette leans over him, rests her cheek on his hair. “So am I, Rhys. So am I.” 

And Rhys might not be able to see her face right now, but he’s pretty sure she’s smiling.

She pokes his side. “What do you say, we go home and tickle Vaughn until he agrees to do the chores this week?”

“Deal.” Rhys knows Vaughn’s weakness, and he flexes his fingers in anticipation. “I’ll go for his legs.” When Yvette slowly rolls the chair back, he shuffles forward, takes her offered hand and stands up. He hisses out a long breath. Right, great sex at the cost of unbelievable soreness everywhere.

“Don’t be a baby,” Yvette says, but she leans forward and presses the amused line of her mouth onto his nose. “I’ll take care of his arms.” She takes Rhys’ hand, and they leave the office together, giggling in eager anticipation of Vaughn’s indignant shrieks.

Honestly, Rhys doesn’t know why he ever thought he needed another alpha in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to [Anya](http://scootsaboot.tumblr.com/) and [Erica](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com/) for cheering me on, and to [Jun](http://ssealdog.tumblr.com/) and [Lucy](http://donotchoosesidesyet.tumblr.com) for doing that and also reading this over for me, and one more thank you to the inquisitive anon that set this entire thing in motion.
> 
> for [realityphobia](http://realityphobia.tumblr.com/), who reminded me that people do care, made me remember how much fun it can be to string words together and have others along for the ride, and who taught me that ao3 comments actually have a character limit.
> 
> I cannot thank you enough.


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